


Twisty Paths of Fate

by RosesHaveThorns



Series: Fate of the Heart [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Amaranthine (Dragon Age), Angry Sex, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bathing/Washing, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical language, Consensual Kink, Corsetry, Cunnilingus, Dancing, Denerim, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, Drinking Games, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Eye Contact, F/M, Fellatio, Fluff, Hero of Ferelden - Freeform, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation, Mirror Sex, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Regret, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Friendship, Sleeping Together, Snark, Spanking, Strong Female Characters, Strong Language, Vaginal Fingering, vulgarity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2018-08-10 23:12:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 97
Words: 236,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7865188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosesHaveThorns/pseuds/RosesHaveThorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Alistair leaves her at the Landsmeet over what Rowan Cousland saw as a completely pragmatic and sensible decision, she goes on to be Warden-Commander in Amaranthine and has to contend with an angry Nathaniel Howe as well as her own sorrow and pain, and all the other problems going on in the region.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fancy Meeting You Here

**Author's Note:**

> The first part of the story follows the canon reasonably closely, including some of the dialogue, but the longer it goes, the more it diverges from canon and becomes its own thing. I did have fun working bits of dialogue into the story, but rest assured that this is not just a rehash of Dragon Age: Awakening. This is most assuredly a romance story, with the emphasis on the relationship between Nathaniel Howe and Rowan Cousland, who are, it turns out, an exquisitely good match. It WILL get smutty, but I'll put in notes at the start to let people know when it's going to be NSFW. I will also probably add more tags as I go (also note that as of this posting, this story has some forty chapters, so I won't be abandoning it, though I am still editing, and I have more writing to do; I wanted a BIG buffer and to have the earlier chapters as polished as they're likely to get before I started posting). 
> 
> American English is my first language, but I've lived in a Commonwealth nation for a long time. This is written in Commonwealth standard English, rather than American standard (because I don't want to reset the dictonaries and other settings in my word processor every time I start a new chapter). It should still be entirely readable and understandable to Americans or anyone else who can read English, but if you really can't stand seeing an extra 'u' after an 'o' and you shudder when you see an 's' instead of a 'z', sometimes, I'm afraid you won't care for the style, here. ;)
> 
> NSFW stuff is noted so you can avoid it if you want to. And it does get VERY NSFW... ;)

“Ah, Commander. Good thing you're here,” said the guard to the woman who strode in. “This one's been locked up three nights, now. Good men died while this one was protected in his cell.”

Rowan Cousland wasn't what Nathaniel had expected. They had met, years previously, but he hadn't paid much attention to her at the time. She had been a child, a little on the skinny side, with long limbs and long hair, tagging after her brother even though she was told to go away, and that's really just about all Nathaniel really remembered of her. He had not imagined that girl who had grown up to be named the Hero of Ferelden, now Commander of the Grey, would be so pretty.

The woman before him was was well-toned and athletic, but undeniably feminine, with swaying hips and a narrow waist. She moved with a lithe grace that he couldn't help but notice. She was dressed in light leather armour, almost certainly a rogue, like himself. Her hair was chestnut brown and pulled back off her oval face into a messy plait. Her green eyes were fringed with long, thick, sooty lashes.

She was eight or so years younger than Nathaniel, but despite her youth, she looked tired and battle-worn. She seemed to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders, even though she held her head high and her shoulders back.

This young woman was the person who had murdered his father? It hardly seemed possible.

“Leave me to talk with him,” she said to the guard.

“I'll tell Varel you came,” the guard advised. “He'll want to know what is to be done with this man.”

Nathaniel sat in his cell, quietly watching her as she observed him. Then she opened the cell door and left it ajar while she stood and looked at him. He wondered at the Cousland woman's boldness. He silently measured the distance between them, trying to decide if he could leap up and throttle her to make an escape, before she could pull those daggers she was carrying. If even a quarter of the stories about her were true, he figured she'd remove some of his internal organs before he could get anywhere near strangling her to death or even to unconsciousness.

“Well, if it isn't the great Hero of Ferelden, conqueror of the Blight and vanquisher of all evil,” he said, snarling more than he had intended to do. “Aren't you supposed to be ten feet tall, with lightning bolts shooting out of your arse?”

“I see my reputation proceeds me,” she replied coldly, folding her arms over her chest.

“Somehow, I just thought that my father's murderer would be more... impressive.” He saw her eyebrows shoot up in surprise and pressed on. “I am Nathaniel Howe. These were my family's lands until you and the Grey Wardens usurped them from us. Tell me, do you remember my father?”

“Ah, so that's why you look so familiar,” she said, almost casually, as if they were meeting at a party. “We've met, though it was years ago. You were quite friendly with my brother, Fergus, and you stayed at Highever Castle on several occasions, particularly when you came to attend tournaments in Highever. You were quite the archer, as I recall.” Her tone was light, conversational, but her green eyes were hard and cold, and glittering with anger. “Are you aware that your illustrious father murdered my entire family, including Fergus' unarmed wife and six-year-old son? Wasn't even taking prisoners. He just wanted us all dead, and then he claimed the title of Teyrn of Highever. Yes, I remember him, still pretending to be a family friend and ally mere hours before the attack on my home. So do be careful who you're calling a murderer, Howe.”

“Look, I... I really don't know what happened with the Couslands. What I have heard sounds... awful. But it was a war,” Nathaniel argued. “He must have had his reasons. What were the Couslands up to that my father had to take such drastic action?”

The Commander's lip curled and she actually growled. “It wasn't a war at the time, or, at least, it wasn't a civil war, but a war against the encroaching darkspawn. You think murdering my family was intended to help stop the Blight, do you? We fought with King Cailan, while Teyrn Loghain abandoned him to the darkspawn at Ostagar. Your father's army was supposed to be going there, as well, but instead they stayed to massacre the people of Highever Castle on his orders.”

Nathaniel scowled at her. What nonsense was this woman spewing?

“My father served the Hero of River Dane, and fought against the Orlesians,” he pointed out, “and yet, our family lost _everything_. I came here... I thought I was going to try to kill you, to lay a trap for you. But then I realised I just wanted to reclaim some of my family's things. It's all I have left.”

A look of compassion flashed across her face, but only for an instant, and then she narrowed her eyes in anger. Perhaps Nathaniel had only imagined anything other than hostility.

“My father, too, fought the Orlesians, alongside your father. I understand they were decorated in the same ceremony after the Battle of White River. My father called yours a friend, had done for decades, and then he was betrayed, as were we all. Just how much do you actually know about your father?” she asked, her tone of voice accusatory.

“If you're asking if I knew what he was planning or what he was doing, no, I didn't. I was in the Free Marches for the better part of a decade, and I haven't set foot in Ferelden for years. As far as I can tell, my father was on the wrong side of the war, and now my entire family are pariahs, our name covered in scorn. Well, those few of us who are left. It's all thanks to you!” he added bitterly. “And now you get to decide my fate. Dramatic irony at its best, isn't it?”

She sighed and rubbed her forehead tiredly.

“I fail to see how any of your family's misfortune is my fault.”

He frowned. She was a confounding woman, and nothing she said made much sense to him. Was she trying to manipulate him? She must be.

“If not for the Blight,” Nathaniel admitted, “maybe my father wouldn't have... done what he did. But now there's just you, who murdered my father, and the Grey Wardens, here in my home.”

“I had nothing to do with the Wardens being given Amaranthine. It was entirely Queen Anora's decision, and she did not consult me or the Wardens before she announced it. I have no authority to return your lands to you, but petition Queen Anora if you wish, and the Grey Wardens will abide by it if she sees fit to return your land and title to you.”

Nate scowled at her, folding his arms over his chest. Just what was this woman playing at? Was he supposed to believe she and her order had nothing to do with usurping his family's lands and titles? And even if that was true, she was still his father's murderer, a charge he noted she did not deny.

“And, yes,” she continued, “if not for the Blight, there probably wouldn't have been a civil war instigated by the aforementioned Loghain, Hero of River Dane, and your father wouldn't have been able to take advantage of the situation to further his own mad ambition,” she proclaimed. “So you're at least partly right in that. But, again, I had nothing to do with your family's shame. No, that was all your father's doing. He earned the title _Butcher of Denerim_ entirely without my help. Perhaps now it falls to you to redeem your family name.”

“Oh, yes, you're so right. I'll just go join Queen Anora's service immediately. I'm certain she'll give a Howe another chance!”

Again, he saw that flash of compassion he thought he'd seen before. He was sure now he wasn't imagining it, but he didn't know what to make of it.

“I hear it took four Grey Wardens to capture you,” she said, almost conversationally. “That's impressive.”

“My time in the Free Marches wasn't spent drinking wine and chasing skirts. I was there to train, and develop my skills.”

“What skills are those, then? I assume you're still an archer?” She looked him up and down and then said, “Strong, well-built, but not bulky like a warrior. You're a rogue, then? Yes, of course you are, that's why you sneaked in here rather than, I don't know, challenging me to a duel or something. So, I assume the usual skills? Skulking about in the shadows, picking locks, making and employing poisons, and so forth? And probably a few more interesting ones, as well. Rogues do seem to pick up an intriguing assortment of abilities. I'm also going to assume you have considerable leadership training, yes? Son of a powerful noble family and all.”

He frowned, but nodded once to confirm her assessment. She was clever, and observant. He was also confident that his assessment that she was, herself, a rogue had been confirmed.

“So, tell me, Nathaniel Howe, what would you do if I were to let you go?” she asked.

Nathaniel was momentarily dumbstruck. What did she just ask him?

“Let me... go? I... don't know. I only came back to Ferelden a month ago, and I have little coin and nowhere to go, or to be,” he admitted. What _was_ she doing? Was she expecting him to just slink away with his tail between his legs? To just back down? He wouldn't. “If you let me go, I might just come back here, and you might not catch me next time.”

“Well, you're certainly honest, I'll give you that,” she said, a tiny smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Though you're not making the best case for yourself.”

“I could lie, if you prefer.”

“No, in fact, I do appreciate candour, and I thank you for it. I can respect bluntness. I've had my fill of treachery and lies and half-truths.” She fell silent for a time, just looking at him, sizing him up. “All right, Nathaniel Howe. I've decided what's to be done with you.”

“Already? Good.” Nate turned away from her and sat down in the cell to await his fate. He fully expected she'd have him executed. He did hope she wouldn't throw him in a deeper dungeon and leave him to rot, but he wouldn't be surprised if she did. Whatever happened, he would accept it with the dignity of the heir of a noble family, no matter what shame his name now unjustly bore.

When he looked up again, she had sent the guard to retrieve the man Nathaniel had already met and assumed correctly was in charge at the Keep.

“I see you've spoken with our guest,” the silver-haired man said in his rich, deep voice. “Quite the handful, isn't he? Have you decided what's to be done with him?”

“Varel,” the Commander addressed the seneschal, “did you know this was Nathaniel Howe?”

“No. We couldn't get a word out of him,” Varel remarked. “A Howe, you say? It figures one would show up here eventually. The Howes are implacable enemies, Commander.”

“And treacherous friends,” she added bitterly. “Give him his family's things, and have the guards escort him off the estate. He wishes to try to redeem his family name, and he can't do that if he's hanging from a noose or locked up in a cell. I'm releasing him.”

“You're doing _what_?!” Nathaniel gasped, leaping to his feet to stare at the Cousland woman.

“Commander! That's... I must object!” Varel sputtered. “You want to let a thief keep what he stole?!”

“Those things belong to his family,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Most of them are probably only of sentimental value, and I'm certain the Grey Wardens have no need of them. At worst, he was trespassing. Let him go.”

Nathaniel was dumbstruck. He'd threatened to kill her! Or, at least, he had confessed that he'd planned to kill her. And he'd then implied that he might come back if she released him, though, in truth, he'd only said that because he was hoping to provoke her into doing something rash. Still, it _was_ a threat on her life, and she apparently knew that Nathaniel was more than capable of carrying it out.

Rowan Cousland was either hoping to die, or she was extremely confident in her own ability to defend herself. Nathaniel didn't want to know which, nor did he wish to indulge her in either.

“Yes, Commander,” Varel said, somewhat grudgingly. “I hope you know what you're doing.”

“So do I,” she said with a humourless smile.

Varel turned to Nathaniel and ordered, gruffly, “Come with me, Howe, to collect your things.”

Nathaniel strode past the woman, making no eye contact with her, and he shortly found himself alone on the road to Amaranthine as his armed escort retreated back to Vigil's Keep.

 


	2. Honour and Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the bird flies back to drink from the Joining chalice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting to diverge from canon just a bit. Or maybe, expand on the canon story is a better description at this point.

Rowan was strangely unsurprised to see him when Nathaniel Howe caught up with her and her travelling companions some days after his release. Her mabari war dog, Ser Barkley, stood alert, ears back, but he didn't growl or move. That was a good sign; the dog was highly intelligent and a shockingly good judge of character.

Oghren was with her. She and the redheaded dwarf had been friends for a long time, and had gone through a great deal together. According to him, they were like family, and Rowan had to agree with that assessment. Maker knew, she had very little family left, so she was happy to accept his offer of familial closeness, even if he was crude, inappropriate, and frequently drunk. He was also rather funny, and an incredibly impressive warrior. She found his presence oddly comforting, and she was glad to have him with her, especially as he was armed with a powerful two-handed weapon he wouldn't hesitate to use. He always told her if she needed something pummelled, to just say the word, and she glanced at the dwarf only to have him nod slightly. He was ready to pummel as necessary.

Anders, the blonde apostate mage she'd conscripted with Queen Anora's personal assent, right out from under the noses of pursuing templars, was also with her. He observed Howe carefully, one hand casually at his side where he could quickly retrieve the magical staff from his back if he needed it.

“Don't look now,” Anders mused, “but I think the bird's come flying back.”

“Wait,” Nathaniel said, holding up his hands, palms toward her, to show her he was unarmed. “I want to talk to you.”

He looked haggard and rough, like he hadn't slept in days, even worse than when she first saw him in the Keep's dungeon. His dark hair was lank, his face covered in several days' worth of dark beard growth. He needed a bath, a hot meal, some clean clothes, and probably some hope and direction. The steel grey eyes which were fringed with surprisingly long lashes were guarded, but he met her gaze directly.

“Careful with this one,” Oghren growled. “He might go all Zevran on you.”

Rowan glanced at the dwarf with mild amusement. Zevran had, indeed, been an assassin sent to kill her, but once she spared his life and he joined her travelling party, he had proved entirely loyal and become a good friend. Did Oghren mean to imply that Nathaniel Howe was going to try to kill her, or that he would become her friend, flirt shamelessly with anyone and everyone, and offer people erotic massages, as Zevran used to do? Either way, it was an interesting thought, especially as Nathaniel had already theoretically tried to kill her.

“You set me free,” Nathaniel stated. “You just let me go, even after the things I said and what I might do. I want to know why. I've had days to think about this, and I can't work it out.”

Rowan shrugged. “I know all too well what it is to lose your family, your home, your title, the future you thought you had. I believe you when you say you knew nothing of what your father had been doing. Your father's actions cost you everything, and I won't be the one to take any more from you. What you do now is your own responsibility.”

“But I threatened to kill you!”

This time, she smirked. “I have it on excellent authority that I am royally tough to kill. But given the fact that you actually got into the Keep but just ended up taking a few mementos, and then, when I opened your cell door and you made no attempt to either attack me or escape, I didn't think your heart was really in it. Am I correct in that?”

“Apparently so,” he replied a little sourly. He was silent for a few long moments. “Take me with you, Cousland. Make me a Grey Warden.”

“You don't know what you're asking, Howe. The life of a Grey Warden is usually short and generally grim. It's a hard life of sacrifice and constant vigilance, and it never, ever ends well.”

“I... fully expected to die when I broke into Vigil's Keep. Maybe I even wanted to. But you released me and I've had some time to think... Make me a Grey Warden. Let me try. Please.”

Rowan masked a flinch. She knew what it was to expect to die, to perhaps even want to die, and then find yourself without recourse when you unexpectedly survive. It was a little frightening to realise just how much she and Nathaniel Howe had in common.

“And why should I trust you?” she asked, though not harshly.

"You probably shouldn't,” he admitted. Again, she was struck by his blunt honesty, a trait he'd also displayed when she was questioning him in the holding cell. He may be deluded about his father, but Nathaniel certainly wasn't anything like him.

“I just... I have to try,” he argued. “I want to serve.”

“Ah, I see. You hope to redeem your family name through service to the Grey Wardens, do you?”

“Maybe. I don't know,” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe that's not even important. Maybe it's more important that I do my part to face the darkspawn. Maybe that's what my father should have done.”

He looked so conflicted, so earnest, that Rowan had to sigh. She was always taking in strays, reforming them, giving them a chance at redemption. Of course, that tendency had cost her dearly when she conscripted Loghain instead of executing him, but at least now there was no lover to accuse her of betrayal, shirk his duties as a Grey Warden, and leave her to face an archdemon against ridiculous odds.

The sudden recall of that loss made her heart ache painfully and she had to swallow a lump in her throat and shut her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, Nathaniel Howe was watching her, a puzzled look on his face.

"Very well,” she said finally and with a slight sigh. “If you insist on taking this path, I suppose we'll see how you do with the Joining. Just remember that this was your choice.”

Anders, ever the smartarse, commented to Rowan, “I'm no seer, Commander, but in your future, I sense a knife in the back. Just saying.”

“I met some of my best friends when they tried to kill me,” she said with a shrug.

“So we just let anyone into this outfit, huh?” Oghren complained.

“Well, we let you in, didn't we?” she shot back at the dwarf. She'd make it up to him later and buy him some brandy or whisky or pure grain alcohol someone was using to clean heavy machinery. He'd like that.

“Nothing to fear,” Nathaniel said softly. Rowan was unsure if he meant her, or himself.

 

~*~

 

Rowan stood beside Varel, who solemnly held the chalice full of the poison-potion that would make Nathaniel Howe a Grey Warden, assuming he was strong enough to survive the darkspawn taint it would impart. She had given him a basic disclosure, because she felt it was the right thing to do. Duncan, her predecessor, and also the man who had recruited her, had been far more secretive, but she was inclined to let people know they could potentially die, and that there would be... changes. She was vague on details, but clear about the situation. She was also clear that there was no going back. Not in a “you take a vow” way, but in a “this will change you forever” way, even if she didn't say precisely what those ways were.

Nathaniel had listened carefully and then nodded and agreed, and repeated that he wanted to serve. Rowan had sighed and reminded him once more that this was his choice, and that any consequences were of his own doing.

“Join us brothers and sisters,” she intoned. “Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry out the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, we shall join you."

Joinings usually involved more than one recruit or conscript, and it was a little odd to say the pledge with only one Grey Warden and only one recruit, but Rowan dutifully recited it as she had when Anders, Mhairi, and Oghren had undergone the Joining in a group. She felt she should do no less for Nathaniel.

Varel solemnly handed Nathaniel the chalice. It was actually customary to send a Warden recruit into the Deep Roads or elsewhere to collect a vial of darkspawn blood as a sort of test of honour and courage, and to use that blood in the Joining potion, but the Orlesian Wardens who had populated the Keep prior to Rowan's arrival had apparently come prepared, and Rowan was desperate enough for Grey Wardens that she decided to simply make use of what she already had on hand. They'd get plenty of opportunity to kill darkspawn and prove their mettle. It was a risk, and some of them may yet prove to be unsuitable, but time would tell on that one.

And time would tell with Nathaniel Howe, who took the Joining cup from Varel and said, “The moment of truth.”

When he collapsed, Rowan felt the anguish she always did when witnessing a Joining. Everyone collapsed upon drinking, well, other than Oghren, whose eyes had rolled into his head but was otherwise apparently fine, so it shouldn't have alarmed her, but it always did. And they'd already lost one potential Warden, the soldier, Mhairi.

Rowan thought back to her own Joining, and to the rogue, Daveth, who had perished from the contents of the Joining chalice. Once again, she thought what a fine Warden he would have made, had he lived. He had the right pragmatic attitude, and he was good in a fight. She felt the same about Nathaniel Howe. She had almost conscripted him, but decided she couldn't force the life of a Grey Warden on him. On anyone. Technically, she had conscripted Anders, but he had accepted it readily, so she didn't feel too badly about it. It kept him from being dragged back to the Circle, and that was fine with him.

“The Howe is strong,” Varel pronounced, reaching down to check Nathaniel's pulse. “He lives.”

“Have him taken to the room we had prepared for him. As with the other recruits, I want a generous meal waiting for him when he wakes, and I want a hot bath prepared for him as soon as he's up and about,” Rowan ordered, feeling relieved. “The Joining takes a lot out of you.”

With that, she turned on her heel and left the room. There was no telling how long it would take for him to recover his senses. From what she understood, it could be next to immediately, or it could be hours.

 

~*~

 

“Warden Howe, may I come in?” Rowan called after knocking on the door late on the evening of Nathaniel's Joining.

“It's your fortress, Commander Cousland,” came the surly answer.

“How are you feeling?” she asked as she stepped into the room, leaving the door open for propriety.

“Surprisingly well, under the circumstances,” he answered. He was sitting on the bed, long legs stretched out and crossed, his back to the headboard, with a book in his hands, which he closed and set aside. Empty dinner dishes were stacked on the night stand. “The Joining was... far worse than I expected.”

He turned his head away from her, his face in profile, and Rowan took in the long, aquiline nose and high cheekbones. Nathaniel was good looking, in a dark, brooding, rogueish kind of way, qualities that had prompted the brief, entirely unrequited crush she'd had on him as a child.

He did look a good deal like his father, but not so much so that it disturbed her, and from what she'd seen, he was nothing like his father in character. She studied him a little longer and thought how Nathaniel also reminded her of Loghain Mac Tyr, particularly in the aloof, stoic way he carried himself and his characteristically sarcastic observations. So he reminded her of two men who had been her enemy. Well, that was... interesting.

Rendon Howe had been venomously hateful to the very end; Loghain had more or less redeemed himself, even if he never had apologised to her or anyone else. Rowan wondered where, between those extremes, Nathaniel would fall. Given his general honesty and what appeared to be a genuine desire to serve and to redeem his family name, he would probably end up to the good. If he did go the way of Rendon Howe and try to betray her, Rowan would have no compunction whatsoever in stabbing her daggers into his kidneys, cutting his throat, leaving him for dead on the side of a road somewhere.

“Yes, the Joining is pretty awful,” she admitted. “There's no way to really prepare someone for the experience, I'm sorry to say. I did try to disclose what I could, though.”

“You did. Thank you for that much, at least,” he said curtly. And then, with a somewhat softer voice, he offered, “And thank you for the... creature comforts. The bath, particularly. I sorely needed one.”

“I see you shaved,” she mused. “Except that you missed a bit.” He turned his grey eyes toward her and she touched her own lower lip in the centre, just above the chin, to indicate.

He smirked at her and she couldn't tell if she had amused him or annoyed him. He reached up and touched a fingertip to the patch of hair that formed a tiny... well... beard, though it could hardly be called such.

“I've worn this for years. My...” His voice trailed off and his expression hardened. Rowan frowned and then suddenly realised that his father had worn exactly the same style of facial hair.

“I, ah,” she said, looking around the room to disguise her deep discomfort, “I just wanted to see how you were, and to ask if you need anything.”

“Such as?” he asked, arching one eyebrow.

“I don't know. Armour?” she suggested. “Equipment of any sort? The bow you're using seems to have seen better days. We can get you a more sound one, if you like.”

“It's fine,” he answered, folding his arms over his chest. “I'm fine.”

She sighed. “Well, we have a fair bit of excellent equipment around, much of which I brought with me from the Grey Warden compound in Denerim. We can also get Master Wade to make armour or weapons. You are a Grey Warden now, so you're welcome to whatever we have. If you do change your mind, speak with Senechal Varel or Captain Garevel.”

“Yes, Commander,” he answered curtly. “As you say.”

“Well... good night. I would wish you pleasant dreams, but I know you won't have them, not so soon after your Joining. Eventually, you'll master the nightmares but...”

He nodded. “Understood. Is there anything else?”

“No, I suppose not,” she said. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

Rowan turned and walked out of the room, pulling the door shut as she went. Why had she agreed to recruit him? Oh, yes, it was because it had taken four Grey Wardens to capture him and he had been lost, confused, conflicted, and seeking restoration or some sort of redemption for his family name, and Rowan really needed Grey Wardens. She sighed tiredly, and hoped this didn't come back to bite her on the arse. Or, as Anders so delightfully put it, to stab her in the back.


	3. Of Wending Woods and Dalish Elves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Wardens encounter strange allies and stranger enemies.

The Wending Wood was a beautiful place, if one could overlook the perpetually burning, sentient trees that attacked, the bandits who populated the entire region, the pit of dead bodies, and the crazy blonde Dalish elf mage who had apparently been behind the killings in some sort of misguided vengeance mission, according to evidence the Wardens uncovered.

The elf was under the impression that the bandits and other humans had kidnapped her sister, and so she had waged a retaliative one-woman war against any and all. However, it was fairly clear after some investigation that this was not the case, that her sister had, in fact, been taken by darkspawn. 

More intelligent darkspawn, apart from the one Rowan had encountered at Vigil's Keep on the night she arrived, the night that the Orlesian Wardens there had all fallen to the sudden, surprise attack. Rowan was liking this entire situation less and less.

Nathaniel seemed to be enjoying the outdoors, and was, for the most part, quiet. He kept to the back of the party, impressively eliminating enemy after enemy with his precisely aimed arrows.

Anders, on the other hand, cared far less for the great outdoors, and was jumpy about the number of potentially dangerous creatures in the area, crazy blonde Dalish elves apparently included.

“This place is a death trap!” he complained to Rowan. “If I have to go into the bushes to answer nature's call, you're coming with me!”

“I see,” she responded dryly. “And do you want me to hold it for you, as well?”

“Well, I wouldn't have asked, but if that's an option, certainly,” he quipped.

Rowan was surprised to hear Nathaniel snort derisively at the exchange between her and the mage. Nathaniel had not, apparently, noticed it yet, but Anders flirted with almost everyone who held even the most minor spark of sexual interest for him, but he did it playfully. He was the sort who would claim he'd just been joking if anyone questioned him about it, unless, of course, they actually showed interest in taking it up a notch. In which case, he'd be happy to give that a go.

Rowan didn't mind the flirtation, and rather enjoyed the distraction, but she wasn't interested in having the mage as a lover. She also enjoyed Oghren's banter, crude and obnoxious as it could be, and she wasn't at all inclined to take the dwarf to her bed.

She might have enjoyed bantering or even playfully flirting with Nathaniel, who did possess a sharp wit that could be entertaining, but he was quiet more often than not, and seemed to seethe with unexpressed rage at times. Best not to poke a hornet's nest, Rowan thought, so she left him be.

The Wardens eventually caught up with the crazy blonde Dalish elf mage in an abandoned campsite. They presented their evidence and demonstrated that she'd murdered dozens of innocent people because of a misunderstanding. Her sister was taken by darkspawn, not by humans.

The elf was dismissive and woefully self-justified, but contrite enough to offer them a way into an ancient silverite mine, where she insisted they would find answers.

 _And darkspawn_ , Rowan thought. _Possibly the intelligent kind._

And, of course, Rowan was right. But it wasn't just any darkspawn, oh, no. And not just the intelligent kind, the kind that talked. This time there was some sort of hideously twisted, magically distorted darkspawn creature, far too tall, with elongated, strangely elegant limbs. He captured them with a magical trap and the next thing Rowan knew, she was coming to consciousness on a kind of stone slab, her hands and feet bound, the creature looming over her.

“So you're the commander of the Grey Wardens,” the creature said in a smooth, rich voice that made all the hair on Rowan's body stand on end. “No, don't be frightened. Your injuries have been tended to. I apologise for what I must do. I do not wish to be your enemy. But now is not the time for this. Rest.”

 _Wait, what must he do that he needed to apologise?_ Rowan wondered briefly just before everything faded and she slipped back into unconsciousness.

“Commander,” she heard a familiar male voice say through the fog of unconsciousness. She opened her eyes and found herself looking into Anders' warm brown ones. “How are you feeling?”

“I... don't know. I... I'm conscious, anyway. Uh... Where are we?” She could see a ceiling, and make out some of the walls, but her vision and her mind were still unfocussed.

“We're in a cell,” Anders volunteered. “One very like the ones in the basements of the Ferelden Circle, in fact. I spent a year in one of those, once. Solitary confinement. Can't say I'm happy to be back in one, now. I thought being a Grey Warden was going to be lots of shooting fire out my fingers at darkspawn. I did not expect to be locked up again.”

Rowan slowly sat up, Anders hovering near to assist. She glanced around. The stonework and architecture had all the hallmarks of ancient Tevinter construction, so she guessed they were still inside the mine. Why they needed prison cells in a mine, she couldn't imagine. Perhaps the facility served many purposes. Or perhaps, being Tevinters, they used slave labour and these were the slaves' living quarters when they weren't working in the mines.

“Don't worry, Anders,” Rowan said, accepting his offer of a hand to pull her up. “We're getting out of here.”

“How, exactly?” came another male voice. The sneering tone was unmistakably Nathaniel Howe. “We have no armour, no weapons, and no tools to pick the locks.”

“I've been in worse situations,” she said dismissively as she turned to look at him. “At least these captors had the decency to dress us after they took all our gear. Believe me, it's better than waking up in a cell naked as well as unarmed.”

Nathaniel frowned at her and opened his mouth as if to say something, but the crazy blonde Dalish elf mage, who was in the same cell as the Wardens, suddenly shrieked and everyone turned to see what was causing the outburst.

“Seranni!” the elf screamed. Velanna, Rowan reminded herself. The crazy blonde Dalish elf mage's name was Velanna.

Rowan turned to see a dishevelled blonde woman, apparently Velanna's sister, Seranni, standing on the outside of the cell. The woman's skin was a strange, sickly grey, her eyes were oddly haunted, and she ignored Velanna's shrieking demands to know what had happened to her and what was going on. Seranni addressed Rowan, instead, saying she was going to get them all out before anything worse happened to them.

Seranni further resisted Velanna's constant protests and offers to bring her back home, telling Rowan that the darkspawn had their gear and equipment, which they could get back if they were quick and clever. It was all highly suspicious, but Rowan decided to leave well enough alone and simply accept the key the elf thrust through the bars before she unlatched the cell door from the outside and ran off.

“Didn't I tell you?” Rowan smirked toward Nathaniel as they exited the cell. He snorted, but she couldn't tell if it was amusement or derision.

The group made their way through the ancient mine, at first fighting darkspawn with their bare fists, picking up equipment along the way. Eventually, one by one, they each found their own armour and weapons on a shambling, twisted darkspawn version of themselves, until only Rowan was left in scrounged armour, still wielding scavenged weapons. When they finally found her gear, it was in a locked chest which was opened by the key Seranni had given them.

Along the way, they discovered evidence that unmistakably implicated the darkspawn in the conflict in the woods in which Velanna had become embroiled. She did have the grace to look slightly uncomfortable at having been tricked by intelligent darkspawn, but nothing more than that. She reacted much more strongly to the notes regarding Seranni cooperating and forming bonds with the darkspawn, and, it seemed, with the twisted creature which had captured them, apparently called the Architect.

Exactly what the Architect was trying to do remained a mystery. Exactly why he was raising dragons was also a mystery, but they ended up having to fight a number of them, hatchlings and juveniles, drakes, and, eventually, powerful adult dragons, as well. The Architect, along with Seranni and a dwarf woman who appeared to be partially corrupted by the taint, watched the battle between the Wardens and the dragons from a high vantage point in the cavern and then left, triggering a rockslide to prevent the group from following them.

Velanna's mournful howl echoed in the chamber, “Seranni!”

“Well,” Rowan said with a sigh. “This has certainly been... interesting.”

“Yes. Interesting,” Nathaniel echoed, folding his arms over his chest. “I've never fought dragons before.”

“I have,” Rowan answered. “I'll tell you about it some time if you want to know more, but right now, I think we should find a way out of here.”

“Nooooo!” Velanna wailed as she stared at the very thorough cave-in where the Architect had departed. “Why is Seranni with that monster? We must get to her!”

“Well, we won't be able to go that way,” Rowan observed.

“They say Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn, even deep beneath the ground,” Velanna exclaimed, whirling around to look at Rowan. “I would join the Grey Wardens. Give me the ability to hunt down these monsters in the deep!”

“The Joining could kill you,” Rowan said bluntly.

“I am not afraid of death!” the blonde elf protested dramatically. At least she wasn't wailing any more. “I will pledge my services to you in exchange for the powers your order can grant. What say you?”

Rowan raised her eyebrows and considered the situation. The elf was a powerful and competent mage, and that was always an asset to the Grey Wardens. She was clearly brave, and she handled death well. Too well, actually, given the number of innocents she had slaughtered in her one-woman war on the humans she thought had taken her sister. Rowan had to wonder how well this woman would accept command, especially from a human, but Velanna did seem earnest, and Rowan figured that subtlety was probably beyond her, so she wasn't trying to deceive. In all, Velanna seemed like a risk, but Rowan very much needed Grey Wardens, and, in truth, the order was not meant to discriminate on the basis of race or gender or criminal past, but only on a recruit's suitability to get the job done. As long as you were willing and able to do your duty against the darkspawn, you were welcome in the ranks of the Grey Wardens.

Rowan realised she was chewing on her lower lip and she abruptly released it from her worrying teeth.

“Very well,” Rowan said simply.

“Ma serannas,” Velanna said in elvish, offering her thanks. “Shall we go, then? I've had enough of this place.”

“Indeed,” Rowan agreed.

When they had picked their way back to the surface and into the fresh air, it was growing dark, so the group made camp in the same location they'd scouted earlier, the campsite on the edge of a rise with clear views of the entire area.

Rowan had just finished setting up her tent and Anders was whipping up a fire when Nathaniel Howe approached her.

“Commander, a word, if you please?”

Rowan frowned, but nodded, and walked with him outside of the circle of the campfire's light to look out over the countryside in the growing darkness. A few of the perpetually burning, sentient trees were still about, shambling in the dark. It was surprisingly beautiful from their current vantage point on the edge of the rise.

“What is it?” Rowan asked. She was wary of him, but not uncomfortable in his presence, which surprised her.

“Is it wise to enlist the elf woman in the ranks of the Grey Wardens?”

“Wise? Quite possibly not,” Rowan admitted with a slight chuckle. “But... We aren't judges. Kinslayers, blood mages, traitors, rebels, carta thugs, common bandits, anyone with the skill and the temerity to fight the darkspawn and the courage to take the Joining is meant to be welcome among us.”

Nathaniel was quiet but then nodded.

“You know why I asked to join the order,” he said eventually. “May I ask... why did you?”

Rowan was surprised, to say the least. It was not a question anyone had asked her, though Wynne had come close to it a few times.

“I had no interest in becoming a Grey Warden. My father...” She had to pause, as her voice was cracking slightly. She took a breath and continued, “My father essentially gave me to the Grey Wardens with his dying breath, after reminding me that Couslands always do their duty. So I... I do it for him.”

“Familial obligation, then,” Nathaniel said quietly, looking out into the night. “I understand. You have certainly done well as a Warden. Saved the nation from a Blight as well as from a civil war under what were undoubtedly very difficult circumstances. And now you're Commander of the Grey.”

Rowan snorted. “I think I was offered the position because I was quite literally the _only_ Ferelden Grey Warden and Weisshaupt wanted to avoid putting an Orlesian in charge of a Ferelden arling if at all possible. And, of course, that thing about how I'm the great Hero of Ferelden, conqueror of the Blight and vanquisher of all evil, ten feet tall with lightning bolts shooting out of my arse.”

Nathaniel inhaled sharply, and Rowan turned to look at him. She was surprised to find he was smirking. He was almost, but not quite, smiling. He said nothing more but simply turned back toward the camp and gestured for her to proceed him.

She still had no idea what to make of him, but for the moment, she was just glad that Anders' joking prediction about the knife in her back was proving to be wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I don't like Velanna much. I find her very shrill and brittle no matter how much I tried to warm up to her, I just never could. So that's how I wrote her. ;)


	4. Brutal Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel wants to know, so Rowan tells him.

Nathaniel Howe was proving to be an exceptional Grey Warden. He was a brilliant archer, could fight well enough in close quarters with a dagger in each hand, and he was generally undaunted when it came to a fight of any kind. Rowan was deeply impressed with his skill in battle, and she quickly came to appreciate having him there, bow at the ready, taking out enemy after enemy. More than once, she'd gone to stab a foe only to have it drop dead in front of her, an arrow through its throat. It started to become something of a game for her, trying to take out the enemies before Nathaniel could, though she never mentioned it to him. He didn't seem the sort to make a game of battle. In fact, she'd still never seen him smile, though he did smirk, nor had she heard him laugh, other than the occasional snort of amusement.

Rowan and Nathaniel were generally civil, and even had conversations that did not involve sneering or coldly furious observations and poison-barbed comments. He respected her role as Commander and never baulked at her orders, though he was sometimes sarcastic when carrying them out. She could live with that, given what she knew he'd been through.

If the subject of Nathaniel's father came up, she made the effort to remind Nathaniel that she did not hold him responsible for his father's dealings, though she would never go so far as to make excuses for any of them, and she could not, in any good conscience, offer any regret regarding Rendon Howe's death.

So long as Nathaniel carried out his duties and didn't openly defy her, Rowan was content to leave him to his brooding, and she could overlook his occasional snide comments. He did, at least, amuse her with them, at least some of the time.

Admittedly, Rowan had to bite her tongue sometimes so as not to give in to her urge to tell Nathaniel painful truths about his father that she knew he wouldn't want to hear, maybe couldn't stand to hear. At least, that was the case until she heard the conversation between Nathaniel and Oghren when the two Wardens were together on a mission with her. Why did everyone always think she couldn't hear them when they were talking quite literally behind her back?

“Were you there when my father was killed?” Nathaniel had asked the dwarf.

“Don't go digging in the dust for things laid to rest,” Oghren had sighed. “It does no one any good.”

“Whatever people say about him, he was still my father. And I just want to know if he... if he suffered.”

“I'm not the person to ask,” Oghren had answered.

“Very well, Oghren,” Nathaniel had said with a sigh. “Evade the question.”

When they finished their mission and eventually returned to the courtyard of the Keep, Rowan dismissed the team, except for Nathaniel.

“Warden Howe, I'd like to have a word with you, if you please.”

She didn't have an office. There was the old arl's study, but she couldn't stomach doing business of any sort at the desk he had used, surrounded by his things. If she remained at Vigil's Keep, she would have to completely gut the study and remodel it, but for now, she had far more pressing matters, such as an unprecedented apparent civil war between intelligent darkspawn factions threatening the well-being of the citizens of Amaranthine and possibly even further.

She led Nathaniel to her room, which had a desk and some chairs in it, and where she was always willing to talk to people, so long as she wasn't undressed or in bed or otherwise indisposed. Rowan ushered Nathaniel into the room and shut the door after him before she stood in front of the door and turned to stare him down, her arms folded over her chest.

“He didn't suffer,” she growled.

“What? Who?”

“Your father! You asked Oghren about it, but Oghren was right, he wasn't the one to ask. You should have asked _me_. You've accused me of murdering your father enough times!”

Nathaniel flinched, and looked away.

“Firstly, when I killed him, it was because _he_ challenged _me_. He struck the first blow.  I went into the foul, blood-splattered dungeon of his usurped Denerim estate to find the mage who had created a magical barrier to lock Queen Anora in a guest room. As it happens, your father was there, too, along with not one but two mages, and several hired mercenaries. He was insufferably smug and arrogant, and I know this because I did make the effort to talk to him. He was a man I knew my entire life, after all, a man my father regarded as a friend. I thought it only right to try to parley, but he was having none of it. In fact, your father made snide comments about my gender, he made some accusation that every Cousland success held him back, whatever that's supposed to mean, and he told me that he wanted me dead more than ever because my father would be proud that I had finally made something of myself.”

She stopped talking for a moment because her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might burst right out of her ribcage and her ears were ringing. She was shaking, almost violently. She forced herself to take even, steady breaths. Nathaniel actually had the gall to look concerned, as if he was readying himself to dive in to catch her if she collapsed.

“Your father said a lot of other spiteful, venomous, hateful things that I won't bother to relate, but I will tell you that he claimed to have made my mother kiss his feet before she died and that it was the last thing my father saw. I'm sure that was a lie because my mother would have died before cooperating, but you tell me, Nathaniel Howe, what kind of twisted bastard says things like that? Not a thoughtful, heroic man who just happened to accidentally end up on the wrong side of a war!” she shouted, still trembling with rage.

“After that,” she continued, utterly unable to stop herself, “he outright _dared_ me to meet his sword. _He_ challenged _me,_ and _he_ struck the first blow! So, yes, I damn well did fight him. He wanted me dead, Nathaniel, simply because I'm a Cousland! I specifically ordered my party to deal with your father's henchmen while I fought your father, and he died in battle with far more honour and consideration than he deserved. That's more than I can say for the innocents who were murdered at Highever Castle, after your father betrayed us all under a banner of friendship. Your father didn't suffer at my hands, but my parents, my nephew, my sister-in-law, my aged nanny, everyone else in the castle, they all suffered by his will and at his hands, and so have I, _and so have you!_ ”

Nathaniel's head was lowered, and he was clenching his jaw, his nostrils flaring with his rapid breaths.

“Your father was robbing the treasury of the city of Denerim, did you know that? And he personally set up traps to try to capture and murder anyone who continued to support the Grey Wardens, that is, people who didn't believe Loghain's nonsense about how the Wardens had lured King Cailan to his death. Your father's hand-picked, criminal thugs wreaked utter havoc on the city of Denerim in untold ways, committing all manner of brutality, including torturing political prisoners and innocents. Did _he_ suffer? No, but I should have racked the sadistic bastard, like he did to Bann Sighard's son, Oswyn, who will never walk properly again, or maybe I should have locked him up and thrown away the key like he did to Ser Irminric, a templar who was well into lyrium withdrawal madness from being held in the dungeon for so long, or the soldier, Rexel, who had a form of Blight sickness and was likewise locked up and suffering terribly. And do you know why they were there? None of them had committed _any_ crime except knowing inconvenient truths about the war, about your father, about Loghain. And I can tell you even more about your father's death! Do you want to know his last words?”

“No,” Nathaniel said in a rasping, strangled voice. He clearly wanted to leave, but Rowan blocked his way out. Nathaniel started this. She was not going to stop until she had her say and vented the rage she had held for too long.

“Maker spit on you. I deserved more.”

Nathaniel's head snapped up and he stared at her. “Wh-- what?”

“Those were your father's last words, Nathaniel. Telling, aren't they? But, no, he didn't suffer, though he did have a very direct hand in the suffering of plenty of other people, including those he called friends and family, plus countless innocents like little children and elderly women and aging chantry brothers, so that he could take advantage of a nation torn apart by a Blight and increase his personal wealth and his power, because the arling Amaranthine with all its riches wasn't enough for him! There are damned good reasons he's now known as the Butcher of Denerim, but he could be known as the Butcher of Highever, or even of Ferelden!”

“I... wish to leave, Commander,” Nathaniel said, his voice flat. “Please let me pass.”

She stood aside and Nathaniel fled the room, slamming the door behind him as he went.

Rowan collapsed on the bed, wishing she could cry, but, as usual, as always, no tears would come. The red-hot rage blocked everything else out.

They say that revenge is sweet. They lie. Revenge is bitter, and empty, and it accomplishes nothing.

 


	5. Of Sisters and Fathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel reunites with Delilah and has to face some hard facts.

Nathaniel could hardly believe his eyes the day he spied his younger sister standing in the marketplace, chatting with another woman. In truth, Nathaniel had only barely recognised her, and had he not been told she'd married a merchant and lived in Amaranthine, he would have just thought it was a woman who happened to resemble his mother and passed right by her. It had been years since he saw her, but now, here she was, the only member of his immediate family yet living. They had been close when they were young, and seeing her stirred all manner of protective feelings in Nathaniel's heart.

“Delilah? Is that you? Is that really you?”

The dark-haired young woman turned to look at him and frowned slightly, but then her grey eyes flew open wide.

“Nathaniel!” she gasped. “It is you! I had feared the worst!” Nathaniel opened his arms to her and hugged her as tightly as his armour would comfortably allow, before holding her at arms' length to look at her. She was so grown up, and the spitting image of their mother. Delilah had, mercifully, been spared the Howe nose.

Delilah was dressed in very plain clothes like a commoner and she wore no personal adornment of any kind, save a plain gold wedding band.

“Times must have been hard, Delilah, but you can do better than this,” he said sadly.

“What?” she asked with a laugh.

“Your... current circumstances. I heard you'd married a merchant, is that true? Come back to Vigil's Keep with me, and we can find a better way for you to –”

“Oh, Nathaniel,” she interrupted, stroking his cheek. “What are you talking about? Do you think I married out of desperation? Yes, you must, or you would not speak so. Well, the fact is, I adore Albert, and I love my life with him. I admit, I _was_ glad to get away from Father's evil, but that's not why I married Albert. In any case, my life is so much better now than it was when Father was alive.”

Nathaniel was stunned. “Father's... evil? Isn't that overstating things a little? He just got caught up in politics...”

“No,” she said emphatically, her expression serious. “You weren't here. You didn't see what he did, Nathaniel. He was unbridled, and, yes, he was evil. With everything he did, I'm ashamed to be related to him.”

Nathaniel actually flinched. “I... had no idea...” he stammered. “I'd heard some... but...”

“Nathaniel, there is so much you need to know, so much to tell you,” Delilah said. “I can see you're here with companions... colleagues? But can you spare a little time to sit and catch up a bit?”

Nate turned to the Commander, who was standing with her arms folded over her chest and a strangely satisfied expression on her face.

“Go ahead,” she said, “catch up with your sister. See what she has to say. We have business at The Crown and Lion, anyway, and we'll meet you there. Take your time. It's been a while since any of us had hot, greasy tavern food washed down with cheap alcohol. We can use the break.” She turned to Delilah with a graceful nod of the head. “It's good to see you again, Delilah. I'm glad to learn that you're well and happy.”

With that, the Commander turned and walked briskly away, Oghren and Anders in tow.

Delilah looked slightly puzzled as she led Nathaniel into one of the small warehouses off the marketplace, presumably that of her husband. There was a room at the back, a kind of small kitchen, and she made a pot of tea for them to share as they sat down to talk across the plain wooden table.

“So... how do you come to be living at Vigil's Keep?” Delilah asked. “Isn't it in the hands of the Grey Wardens now?”

“Yes. I've joined the order.”

“Really? That's an interesting path, I suppose. Everything I've heard about Grey Wardens would seem to suit you, and you look well, so I'm going to take this as a good thing.”

She poured the tea through a strainer into his cup and then into her own, and then dropped a bit of honey into her own cup. She didn't offer him any. He was oddly touched that she remembered he liked his tea plain.

“So that woman was the Commander of the Grey? Your commander?” Delilah asked.

“Yes. That's Rowan Cousland.”

“Oh! Yes, of course. So, Rowan Cousland is not only the Hero of Fereldan, she's also the new Commander of the Grey. Yes, that makes perfect sense. It's been so many years, I didn't even recognise her.” Delilah paused to sip at her tea thoughtfully. “Well, good for her. She must be an extraordinary woman to do what she did, and a forgiving one to take you into her order, given what Father did to her family. You know he staged a massacre and claimed Highever as his own, don't you? Called himself the Teryn of Highever, as well as Arl of Amaranthine and Arl of Denerim, and probably a few more. I'm surprised he didn't manage to make himself Arl of Redcliffe as well. I heard the true arl was very unwell for a time. Poisoned on Teyrn Loghain's orders, it's said, but I wouldn't be surprised if father had a hand in that, as well. It sounds like something he'd do.”

“You do realise that Rowan Cousland killed our father?” Nathaniel pointed out, though he felt as though the wind had been taken out of his sails. Delilah's conversation was making him extremely uneasy, to say the very least.

“I do. It was fitting that he died at her hand. Believe me, Nathaniel, if she hadn't done it, someone else would have. His activities garnered a great many enemies. He's fortunate he didn't end up with his head on a pike over some city gate or traitor's bridge after the things he did. I heard there was a proper funeral in Denerim, but practically nobody turned up, not even Thomas, and he was living there at the time.”

Nathaniel was utterly taken aback at his sister's vehemence and her unwavering conviction that their father was a criminal, and an evil one.

“I... can't believe he... How could he have changed so much?”

“Nathaniel, you always worshipped Father, even though you could never live up to the ridiculous demands he put on you. He wanted you to be just like him, and when you weren't...” She sighed and took another sip of her tea. “Deep down, Nathaniel, I think you knew Father's true character, even if you couldn't admit it. He was always mean-spirited and spiteful. Look at how he treated Mother, how he treated the staff and servants, how he treated all of us, especially you. The Blight and the war just allowed him to make a grab for power and to openly indulge his dark side, though he was indulging that in very unsavoury ways even before then.” A look of disgust crossed her face, and she shuddered.

Nathaniel felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Everything Delilah told him matched or complemented what Oghren and especially the Commander had said. The bits and pieces of information he'd picked up elsewhere since his return to Ferelden also fit into the picture his sister was painting. In a flash of acutely painful clarity, Nathaniel understood how stubbornly misguided he'd been.

What's more, he'd treated Rowan Cousland, a woman whose family had been massacred on his father's orders, with cold hostility since her angry outburst regarding his father. Yet, everything she'd told him was almost certainly the truth. If he was honest about it, Nathaniel had asked for it. He had wanted to know, and she had told him, even if she had been brutal in her honesty. With his new-found clarity, he understood the reason for her outpouring of rage, and he saw how he used his stoicism and anger to insulate him from truths he was not prepared to accept.

“Let us speak of happier things,” Delilah said, sensitive to his mood. “Albert and I are expecting a baby in the spring!”

“Ah, now I see why you're determined to stay.”

“Nathaniel, stop that!” Delilah scolded. “You haven't even met him! Albert is a wonderful man. He's kind, generous, clever, and he provides a comfortable life for us. As I told you, I'm very happy with him.”

“I... Delilah, I apologise,” Nathaniel sighed. “I'm jumping to wrong conclusions.” _Again_ , he thought grimly. “So where is this wonderful husband? I'd like to meet him.”

“He's in Denerim. Now that the Pilgrim's Path is opened up again, he wants to arrange to get some goods to Amaranthine as soon as possible. Albert should be back by the end of this week, though.”

“After that, is he planning on going away again any time soon? Might you go with him if he does?”

“Why?” she frowned.

“The Grey Wardens will do their best to keep people safe, but we are few, and there are never any guarantees. We opened up the Pilgrim's Path, for example, but there are only just so many Wardens in Ferelden, and we can't be everywhere. I'm not at liberty to discuss details, but the darkspawn that are rising up here in Amaranthine are extremely dangerous, more than the usual darkspawn, if you can believe that. If you and your husband can get away from Amaranthine until this business is settled, it would be a good thing.”

The colour drained out of Delilah's face, her hand moving to rest protectively on her still-flat belly.

“Thank you for the warning,” she said. “I will discuss it with Albert as soon as he returns. He has family in Denerim. Well, all over, in fact, very big family, and almost all of them merchants. We could go anywhere, from the Free Marches to Antiva to Orlais. We can be well away from this area if you think that's best.”

“Good,” Nathaniel said. “That puts my mind more at ease.”

And then the conversation turned to other, less volatile topics. They talked about their brother, Thomas, who had died during the Battle of Denerim, as far as anyone knew. Delilah was certain he was uninvolved with their father's machinations, particularly since he'd grown to be almost perpetually drunk and of no use to their father or anyone else. They talked about Nathaniel's time in the Free Marches, and about Delilah's husband and his family. They talked about various childhood memories, and Nathaniel talked about the Wardens and who had whose childhood room, noted that the master suite stood empty, and that Delilah's old room was without an occupant.

“It has been wonderful to see you, Nathaniel,” Delilah said, setting down her empty cup after they'd drained the pot. “And I would love to keep you here longer, but your colleagues are waiting and, given what you've told me, I'm sure your duty must be calling. I do look forward to spending more time with you soon, though, if you can get away. I'll send word to the Keep.”

Nathaniel nodded and got to his feet at the same time she did. He hugged her once more and kissed her tenderly on the cheek, and then bid her farewell, entreating her her to be wary and keep safe. Deep in thought, he made his way to the tavern to find his fellow Wardens drinking and playing cards with a deck they probably acquired from the bartender. The Commander was just winning a hand when Nathaniel walked up to the table.

“Ah, Nate!” Anders said brightly. “Your timely arrival has saved us from having the Commander take all our money.”

“Glad to be of use,” he answered. “My sister seems happy. She's even expecting a baby. I'm going to be an uncle.”

Oghren raised his mug to the health of the little one, and the others joined in.

“Commander,” Nathaniel said quietly. “A word, if I may?”

Rowan gave the Wardens a look that warned them not to try anything clever with her winnings and then obligingly accompanied Nathaniel to a quiet corner of the common room.

“Delilah told me,” he began in a subdued voice, “about my father's... activities during the war, and even before. She said Father deserved to die... I still can't believe it...”

“You don't believe her? He murdered my family to get what he wanted,” Rowan reminded him, though she sounded more tired than angry.

“I thought he _must_ have had good reasons,” Nate answered with a sigh, shaking his head. “I couldn't accept that he... Andraste on a pyre, it was a war! Before I went to the Free Marches he was never... How could he have changed so much?”

“Maybe he was never who you wanted to believe he was.”

“Delilah said as much.” Nathaniel sighed heavily. “I wish I'd known some of this sooner. I feel like such an idiot.”

“I tried to tell you,” she pointed out, though gently.

“Commander,” Nathaniel said, his head swimming. “Let's get back to our business. I... need to think. I may speak of this with you again some time, if you're willing.”

“All right,” she replied, her expression surprisingly soft. Then she put her hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him toward the bar. “But right now, let me buy you a drink. You look like you could use one.”

 


	6. Apologies and Formal Affairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which apologies are tendered and friendships are forged.

“Commander,” Nathaniel called out across the hall. “May I have a word, please?”

Rowan stopped and turned, tipping her head in surprise. “Yes, of course.”

She was surprised he wanted to speak to her. Other than the brief moment at the tavern when he'd spoken so candidly and allowed her to buy him a drink, he'd been cold to her since her outburst regarding his father. Then, since he'd met with Delilah, he'd been even more distant and silent, avoiding her as much as possible while still managing to fulfil his duties. Not that she blamed him. She still felt badly about having unloaded her rage on him when he was just trying to make sense of what had happened to his family.

“I owe you an apology,” he said upon closing the distance between them.

Her eyes widened. “There's no need to apologise,” she said quickly. “It's fine.”

“Yes, there is a need. _No_ , it's not fine,” he insisted. “I've had some time to think, and I understand that I jumped to conclusions based on too little information and my own... wishful thinking, I suppose.”

He sighed, and closed his eyes for just a moment. “When I returned from the Free Marches,” he explained when he opened his eyes again, “I was certain my family had been destroyed for being on the wrong side of the war. It's a common enough story, you know? But I did some investigation of my own after talking to Delilah, and I know now that my father... deserved what he got. No politics or conspiracies needed to explain it. He was just one stupid, selfish, possibly insane man. I should have dug deeper before I acted, before I accused. I was reckless and bloody-minded. I'm ashamed to admit that I've always had a blind spot where my father was concerned. I wanted... I always hoped that he wasn't really the man I feared he was. I ignored so much, put so much out of my mind, overlooked so many things, made so many excuses... I really should have known better. And in the end, I was made a fool, both by him and by my own stubborn ignorance.”

Nathaniel looked so forlorn that Rowan reached out instinctively and took his hand in hers.

“You couldn't have known what he was up to,” she said quietly.

“Indeed. News of the Ferelden war was patchy at best in the Free Marches and I didn't have any word from Delilah or Thomas, or no word that got through. But I could have learned more before I came here, before I formulated a plan to... kill you... Even if I didn't carry it through, it was... What if I had tried it? You've even proven to be a friend, of sorts. Or am I deluding myself on that, too?”

“I... I would like for us to be friends, if that's possible,” she answered. “We actually have a great deal in common, you know. Next time you go off to brood and and think about things, consider that. We should be friends.” She paused and then corrected herself, “What I mean is, I would like for us to be friends, if that's what you want, too.”

His hooded grey eyes searched her face and Rowan felt a little flushed. He looked so much better now than he had when she'd found him in the dungeon. The dark circles under his eyes had all but disappeared, and his long, dark hair, once lank and dull, was almost like shining silk. At the moment, he needed a shave, but the shadow on his chin and jaw and upper lip actually added to his dark, brooding appeal, and so did that rather elegant, long, aquiline nose. The small patch of hair he maintained on his lower lip, just above his chin and only there, just enhanced his roguish charm.

Andraste's frilly knickers. What was she thinking? It was true she'd had a crush on him briefly when she was a child, but she was a grown woman now, and... and she was reacting to him the way a woman would react to a man she found attractive. An adult crush, then? Awkward.

“Yes. Good,” he said a little awkwardly in reply. “You said once that Howes made treacherous friends, and I know you meant my father, but... I swear I will not betray you. You are already my commander. It would please me to call you my friend, Rowan Cousland.”

It was the first time he'd ever called her by her full name. Usually, it was Commander or even Warden-Commander. A few times, he'd called her Cousland. As far as she remembered, it was the first time she'd heard him utter her first name at all.

She was impressed by him, for a lot of reasons. Now, this admission and apology had undoubtedly taken a great deal of humility and courage, and she greatly appreciated that. It took a strong man to admit he was that wrong, especially given the things he'd said and done based on his wrongness. He was so inherently honest and earnest, and he wanted so much to redeem his family name. He wouldn't betray her. She knew it with absolute certainty.

“I believe you, Nathaniel Howe. And... I'm sorry about... my outburst regarding your father. I was cruel, and you didn't deserve that. I've felt badly about it since it happened, but you were... I didn't want to make it worse by... Please accept my apology now. I am sorry.”

For the very first time since they met in the dungeon, Nathaniel smiled at her, a genuine smile that caused the fan of fine lines at the corners of his eyes to deepen. Rowan felt more than a little flushed. Deep inside the darkness of her heart, there flared a tiny spark of... something. It scared her a little, but she had no time for flights of fancy nor for introspection. She had too many other demands on her time and attention.

“I'm glad we can come to an accord,” he said eventually, and the moment, whatever it was, was broken. “Good evening, then, Commander.”

He gave her a nod before turning to leave. She watched him go and, not for the first time, admired the physical grace with which he carried himself on those long legs, his broad shoulders swaying with just a slight swagger. She sighed tiredly and continued on her way. She had work to do.

 

~*~

 

“Ah, Nathaniel, there you are,” Rowan said when he tapped lightly on the open door to her room.

“You wanted to see me?”

“I did. Do you remember when you first became a Warden and I told you we could provide equipment for you?”

“Yes.”

“And you've never done that.”

“I... no.”

“As I thought. Come on,” she said, getting up from her desk.

They made their way to the cellars in silence, and when they passed the cell in which Nathaniel had been held, she chuckled.

“Ah, and here is where it all began,” he mused aloud.

“Indeed. What would you have thought if someone had told you that day that I'd let you go, you'd come back and ask to join the Grey Wardens, and I would accept you into the order?”

“I would have laughed. Or stabbed them, depending on the situation.”

Rowan smirked and moved into one of the bigger rooms and then to a store room off to the side.

“The walls and ceilings here are in terrible condition,” she commented. “We need to get some of the dwarven engineers down here to make sure it's safe.”

“Oh, the old armoury,” Nathaniel commented as Rowan pulled out a key ring to open the door. “I haven't been in here for years.”

“I wasn't here at the time, but I'm told that when the Grey Wardens took over, this armoury was all but empty. All of the good quality weaponry and armour was gone, just some random bits and pieces left. Presumably, your father's soldiers took the good stuff with them.”

“Or my father sold it all to finance... whatever he was doing with the coin,” Nathaniel said bitterly. “It wasn't maintaining the ancestral home, clearly.”

“I've had soldiers down here since we cleaned out the cellars and sealed the Deep Roads entrance, and they've found quite a few things that were tucked away in crates and boxes and chests in out of the way places and hidden corners. I think one or two might be of interest to you.”

She looked in one chest and then another, until she found what she wanted. When she turned around, Rowan held a finely crafted bow out to him.

“Is that what I think it is?” Nathaniel asked incredulously, his eyes fastened on bow as he gently took it from her. “It is! That's the Howe crest burned into the wood, right there. This has been passed down from Howe to Howe for generations. It was originally made for an ancestor during the Exalted Marches. I'm surprised this is still here. It must have been well-hidden.”

“Well, it's a shame for it to sit in storage,” Rowan told him. “Put it to good use. It's yours now, as it should be.”

“It's good to have a part of my family's legacy again. Something to be proud of.”

“You should be proud of yourself, Nate,” she said softly.

“I... Thank you.” Would she ever cease to surprise him?

“Nathaniel...” she said, somewhat uncertainly.

“Yes?”

“I... wanted to tell you at the time but you were... we were... not friends. But we're friends now, so...” She stopped talking and sighed. “Let me start over. I wanted to tell you at the time, but circumstances being what they were, I didn't think it was my place, and I thought I might make you feel worse. I want to tell you now. I'm sorry about what happened to Adria, sorry for your loss. I'm so sorry we didn't get to her sooner. Had I known...”

Nathaniel lowered his gaze. Adria's loss still hurt, her death still haunted him. By the time they'd found her deep in the cellars of the Keep, she was a ghoul, corrupted by darkspawn taint. There had been very little left of his beloved nanny, the woman who had raised him. There was no helping her. The best that could be done was to put her out of her misery, and so he had done that, with his own blade. The circumstances surrounding her death made the loss just that much worse.

“Thank you,” he said eventually. He looked up and saw compassion in her eyes, but there was pain, too. “What's wrong?”

“I'm sorry,” she answered. “This isn't supposed to be about me. I was just reminded of my own nanny. And... others. I didn't mean to... Anyway, the cellars reminded me and... I only wanted to extend my sympathy to you, now that I can. Now that we're friends.”

“I haven't said it properly,” he said quietly, setting the bow aside gently, “but I am truly sorry for your many losses. I've wanted to tell you but... Well, you know. Circumstances, as you say. You were right, though, we do have a great deal in common, and it's tragic that we have to share this, but... I hope I can be as good a friend to you as you have been to me.”

When he reached out and pulled her into an embrace, Rowan gasped in surprise, but she didn't pull away. It took only a moment before she put her arms around his back and leaned in to him with a shuddered sigh, her head on his shoulder. Nathaniel was overwhelmed by how perfectly they fit together. The physical closeness and the way she smelled of rose water and musk were a delight, and while he'd intended the embrace to be simple consolation and comfort, he couldn't help but be very much aware that he was holding a beautiful woman in his arms.

There were far too many thoughts and emotions rushing around in his head and heart. There was pain and confusion and sorrow and gratitude and admiration and affection and desire and so many others. She had this effect on him, sometimes, especially when she was physically close.

“I... apologise, Commander,” he managed to say as he dropped his arms and turned away from her, taking up the bow and studying it to avoid having to meet her gaze. “That was probably inappropriate.”

“No need,” she answered in a surprisingly soft voice. “We're friends. That was... nice.” She stood up straight and took a deep breath and Nathaniel felt her take up her mantle of authority, which, he was starting to realise, she used as a mask and as a shield. “And now,” she said in her _I'm in Command_ voice, “duty calls.”

“Doesn't it always?” he mused as she left the room.

 

~*~

 

Nathaniel leaned against the wall in his usual corner of the hall, blending effortlessly into the shadows as he watched the gathering nobles and landholders. His presence was not required; none of the Wardens had been asked to attend this gathering as it was arling business rather than a Warden concern, but Nathaniel was curious enough to slip in quietly and observe. He knew some of the attending nobles, though his father had never been especially forthcoming about his political and business dealings with the banns and lords of the region. Maker knew what sort of treachery they could be brewing, though Nathaniel did doubt anyone would openly attack the Commander of the Grey in a setting such as this.

Varel was standing at the far end of the hall, dressed in a formal doublet and breeches, and Captain Garevel stood beside him in polished silverite dress armour. When the Commander appeared from the side corridor, both men reacted with wide eyes and slack jaws, and Nathaniel could see why. Instead of her usual rogue's armour or casual tunic and breeches, Rowan Cousland was formally dressed and looked every inch the noble lady that she was. She was resplendent in a green silk gown that complimented her colouring perfectly, making her skin practically glow. The dress had elegant gold trim around the deeply squared neckline and at the wrists of the fitted sleeves, and the skirt was full, falling from a snugly fitted bodice. She had to be wearing a corset underneath, judging by the way her waist nipped in and her breasts were pushed up and put on display.

Her chestnut hair was gathered loosely, high at the back of her head, with some curling tendrils left to fall around her face, and teardrop-shaped pearls dangled from square cut emeralds on her earlobes. She was stunningly beautiful, indisputably the elegant and poised lady of the manor. And yet she was also undeniably the strong and capable commander, the Hero of Ferelden, despite being corseted and swathed in silk. If the impression she wanted to make on the visiting nobles and landholders was one of noble grace, strength, and towering will, she would certainly achieve that.

Nathaniel had to smirk when he noted how Captain Garevel, clearly struggling not to stare openly, repeatedly glanced at the Commander's rather enticing display of creamy bosom as she leaned in to listen to whatever Varel was telling her. Nathaniel, himself, was finding it impossible to keep his eyes off of her, just like everyone else in the room. He found himself moving closer, keeping to the shadows as he stealthily walked along the edge of the hall. Maker help him, he had to get a closer look. Her combination of strength, power, and beauty was damned near intoxicating.

He had always thought she was pretty. Even when she was covered in sweat or dirt or muck from having been in a fight or on the road, she had a certain kind of inner beauty that shone through it all. He'd also sparred with her and he had watched her in battle from his archer's vantage point, and the way she moved had a compelling grace and strength that he'd call beautiful. But the way she looked tonight... Maker, she was really exquisite. There was no other word to describe her.

Rowan effortlessly commanded the attention of everyone in the room without even trying. Nathaniel knew she was clever enough to use that to her advantage. When the nobles started to offer their oaths of fealty to the new ruler of the Arling of Amaranthine, which was, after all, the purpose of the gathering, Nathaniel smiled to himself at the way she graciously accepting their oaths.

The arling was in good, strong hands, and that would please some of the banns and nobles, and probably infuriate others who had hoped, for their own selfish personal and political reasons, that she would fail in the role of arl, but she was all Cousland, and it showed. Nathaniel smiled and settled in to his self-appointed task of watching her back. She was going to succeed beyond anyone's expectations. Of that, he had no doubt whatsoever.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am deliberately leaving out the stuff about his "grandfather" being a Grey Warden as per the game. The lore is severely broken in that regard (i.e., Rendon Howe apparently had two different fathers!), so I'm just going to skip it. Nathaniel's got enough motivation to be a Grey Warden and to work for the betterment of Amaranthine without throwing broken lore into the mix. ;)


	7. Expectations and Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which not a lot happens, storywise, but our protagonists develop their relationship through a series of fluffy vignettes and a somewhat suggestive sparring match. 
> 
> No smut. Yet. All the porn here is emotional. ;)

Nathaniel sat in the darkened, empty dining hall, half in shadow, eating a bowl of Orlesian-style onion soup and a hunk of dark rye bread. In his half-empty mug was the locally brewed brown ale with which he'd grown up. There was a dying fire in the great hearth, so the room was still pleasantly warm, despite the cold, wet weather through which he'd had to travel on his way back from the city of Amaranthine.

As he ate, the Commander wandered into the dining hall from the kitchen, a bottle of hard cider in her hand. She was distracted, as usual, her brow furrowed in thought, and she didn't see him. Her face was tired and troubled, and he felt strangely protective of her, which was absurd, given how truly capable he knew her to be.

“Commander,” he said quietly, and she looked around, startled.

“Nathaniel,” she responded. “I didn't see you there. How was your visit with Delilah?”

She walked to where he was sitting and took a seat next to him, though she didn't sit too closely. He watched with some amusement as she worked the cork out of her cider bottle with the tip of a knife and then took a drink. She never used a mug or a goblet when she could just drink out of the bottle.

“My sister and her husband are going to Denerim for an extended stay with some of his relatives there. The damaged parts of the city are still being rebuilt, as I'm sure you know, and there are apparently trade opportunities relating to that which Albert feels he can use to his advantage. I must say, it puts my mind more at ease to have her away from Amaranthine until this business with the darkspawn is settled.”

“I understand,” Rowan answered as one of the kitchen staff brought out a bowl of the same onion soup Nathaniel had and put it before her with a measure of bread. The bowl had a thick layer of pale cheese melted on top and she picked up her spoon to dig into that. “So do you like him?” she asked.

“Who, Albert?”

She nodded, lifting the spoon to her mouth, leaving trails of stringy cheese as she did so.

“I do. He's... not what I expected.”

She swallowed the mouthful of cheese before saying, “You know, Nathaniel, you seem to have a lot of expectations about things, and about people. Being a Grey Warden was not what you expected. Your sister's situation was not what you expected. Albert is not what you expected. As I recall from that conversation we had in the dungeon, I was not what you expected. Something about me not being impressive enough.” The corner of her mouth twitched in a hint of a smile as she dipped her bread into the savoury soup.

Nathaniel groaned. “Yes, I'm sorry about that. I know now that if you were any more impressive, your very existence would tear a hole in the Veil so that the spirits of the Fade could sing of your glory.”

She laughed, nearly choking on her food, coughing and sputtering. Nathaniel reached out automatically and patted and rubbed her back rather forcefully while she waved him off as she worked to catch her breath.

“You and your sardonic comments and colourful exaggerations,” she said when she had cleared her throat and was breathing easily again.

“I'm gratified that you find me entertaining,” he said dryly. “But you are impressive. I was serious about that.”

She scoffed and took a pull of cider. “I just do what I can, and what I must.”

“No, it's more than that,” he argued, dipping his bread into his soup. “You're... inspiring. I'm hardly the only one who sees it, or is affected by it. You lead by gaining peoples' admiration and trust. I've never personally seen it before, at least not to the degree you seem to do it, though I've heard about it, and read about it in legends and historical accounts. You are a natural leader and people respond to that.”

Rowan was quiet, and occupied herself with her meal for a time. Nathaniel finished his, and put the bowl aside, but nursed his drink for a while. He liked being with her, especially in the rare moments when it was quiet and they could be alone.

“I've never understood it,” she said finally. “Why people seem to... admire me so much. I really don't feel especially inspiring or heroic. I mean, yes, I'm pretty damned good in a fight, and I think I generally make fair decisions, or at least I try to, and I'm clever enough to pick up on a lot of things that other people might miss, but... I don't know. These days, my reputation always seems to proceed me. Sometimes I feel like people only see the Hero of Ferelden, or the Commander of the Grey, or whatever grand and impressive thing is in their minds that I'm supposed to be. People forget there's a person somewhere underneath and behind all that... expectation.”

Nathaniel was silent. He understood what she was talking about. People expected him to be like his father. He could see it in their eyes, sometimes hear it in their voice. A couple of times, he'd been recognised by angry locals who made their disgust very clear. It was unfair, because it had always been a point of contention between his father and himself that they were not, in fact, very much alike, and that he didn't and couldn't follow his father's example in most things. Nathaniel didn't support his father's actions, and he wouldn't have if he'd known what was happening, but all people saw was the son of a corrupt and bloodthirsty lord who became a war criminal and assumed he was just as corrupt, or assumed he knew and did nothing.

It must be something like that for Rowan, too, although in reverse. Sometimes, he noticed people watching her with a particular expression, expecting her to be or to do... something. To be larger than life and shiningly heroic, hair and cloak blowing dramatically in the wind while she held a sword aloft, maybe, when all she wanted was to order a meal or make a simple purchase. Once they knew who she was, her reputation as an all-conquering hero and saviour of the world got in the way, just as his father's reputation as the Butcher of Denerim got in the way when people met Nathaniel. Neither Rowan nor Nathaniel were what people expected them to be.

It struck him that they didn't just have a lot in common. They were two of a kind. Or, perhaps, two sides of the same coin.

Without thinking too much about it, he reached out his hand and lightly rubbed the back of her shoulder in a gesture of solidarity and, he hoped, comfort. She sighed. He couldn't tell if it was sadness or tiredness or something else, but she gave no sign that she found his hand offensive, so he left it there for a while.

“I see you,” he said, finally, quietly, “every now and then when you let down your guard.”

He could say so much more, but he didn't. He saw the pain she carefully kept hidden behind her persistence and determination, he saw the way she sometimes staggered under the burden of command and the demands she put on herself, and, yes, under the weight of other people's expectations. He saw how, despite appearing almost arrogantly sure of herself, she was actually always checking herself, worried that she might say or do the wrong thing, or make the wrong decision. He wished he could find ways to lessen that burden for her, not only because he held her in high regard, but also because some of her burden had been placed on her by his father's actions.

She said nothing, but finished her meal in silence and then drank the rest of her cider in a few gulps.

“Thank you for the company, Nate,” she said quietly. “I think I might try to get some rest. And for what it's worth, I see you, too, in the moments when you let the mask slip. I wouldn't mind seeing that man more often. I like him.”

He had nothing to say to that, but he felt oddly warmed by her words.

“Sleep well,” he said.

“From your lips to the Maker's ear,” she said as she made her way from the dining hall.

 

~*~

 

Nathaniel crept into her tent and felt a little uncomfortable doing so, but the Commander was talking in her sleep, obviously distressed, and his every instinct compelled him to go to her.

“Commander,” he called out quietly from near the tent's door. When she didn't respond, he moved closer and knelt by her bedroll. “Rowan.”

“Alistair...?” she murmured. There was a sadly hopeful tone in her voice that made Nathaniel's heart ache.

“No,” he answered softly. “Nathaniel.”

He knew who Alistair was. King Maric's bastard son, and a Grey Warden, though he had very dramatically left the service of the Wardens and had been banished from Ferelden after some sort of argument at the Landsmeet, the details of which were never clear, other than Rowan's refusal to execute Teyrn Loghain in favour of conscripting him into the Grey Wardens. There were a lot of stories, rumours, gossip, and certainly not all of it was reliable, but Nathaniel hadn't felt it was his place to ask the Commander for details.

“You... wait... what?” Rowan murmured.

She opened her eyes and looked around, the dazed expression of a wakened dreamer on her face.

“Nathaniel... What's happening? Is something wrong?” she asked with some alarm and moved as if the leap out of her bedroll.

“No, no, everything is fine,” he said quickly. “You seemed to be having a nightmare. I was on watch, and I heard you. You seemed quite... agitated. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Nathaniel reached out and gently smoothed the hair off her face without thinking about it.

“Should I get Anders?” Nathaniel asked. “Or do you want to talk about it, perhaps? It might make you feel better.”

“I... It was just a nightmare. Grey Wardens have nightmares, as you are aware,” she sighed.

“Yes, but somehow I think this nightmare was more... Never mind. Forgive me. It's not my business.”

“Why? Was... what was I...?”

“You were calling out for Alistair, and... asking him why he left you.”

“Ah. Yes. That would be the one,” she admitted tiredly. “And there's also a sea of darkspawn, and then I have to kill the archdemon barehanded and naked all by myself or everyone I know and love will die and the world will be swallowed up by blackness. I usually wake up before the archdemon kills me, but not always. Still a Grey Warden nightmare, more or less.”

Nathaniel fell silent, surprised at the depth of the anger that blossomed in his chest. Despite not knowing the details, it was clear that Rowan had been profoundly hurt. Knowingly subjecting her to that level of pressure and stress was inexcusable as far as Nathaniel was concerned.

“If I ever meet Alistair,” Nathaniel said eventually, “I might have to put an arrow in his throat.”

Rowan smiled tiredly. “Believe me, vengeance never really fixes anything, but I appreciate the sentiment. Thanks for looking out for me.”

Nathaniel was again surprised by the force of the emotion that moved him, but instead of anger, this was warm admiration and affection.

“I always have your back,” he told her. “I hope you know that.”

“Perhaps I'll get up and take the watch,” she said, propping herself up on one elbow. “I don't think I'm likely to get any more sleep.”

“Are you sure you don't want me to get Anders? He can help you sleep.”

“No, no. It's all right. I don't care much for magical sleep, to be honest. And the herbal sleep concoctions leave me groggy and muddled for too long after I wake.”

“As you wish. It's approaching dawn, anyway. Come on, then, you can keep me company on my watch. I'll make you a cup of tea and we can sing rollicking campfire songs about nugs.”

She chuckled. “You go and put the kettle on. I'll be there shortly.”

“I am, as always, at your command.”

 

~*~

 

Rowan and Nathaniel circled each other in the training yard, each armed with a pair of weighted wooden practice daggers. He was primarily an archer, and an extremely good one, and she was primarily a nimble scrapper, though she could use a bow with a good deal of competency. At some point, they had decided to try to perfect more of the other's particular combat styles, if only for a distraction from the ongoing strife of conspiracies and crumbling fortresses and incursions of intelligent, speaking darkspawn.

Rowan was agile, and she easily ducked and dodged him, despite his longer reach. She hopped back from him and kicked, trying to catch his knee with her foot to pull him down, but he was too quick. She grinned at him, and he grinned back.

Maker's breath, that smile was something. He managed to look rakishly handsome and charmingly boyish at the same time.

Rowan stepped back and then skipped forward onto her other foot, intending to flank him, but he was more nimble than she had estimated, and, truth be told, she was a little distracted. He dropped one of his daggers, grabbed her wrist, and spun her around so that, before she knew it, she was held with her back to his chest, the blunt edge of the other dagger pressed to her throat, his arm firmly around her waist, where he had her own arm pinned.

“Gotcha,” he said in her ear, almost playfully, and Rowan's heart pounded a little harder. His arm around her was... arousing. She could smell him, too, a delicious combination of leather, fresh sweat, and sage. She tipped her head back, panting, and not only from the exertion of exercise.

“Yes,” was all she could answer.

Abruptly, he released her and stepped back.

“I... think that's probably enough for now,” he said, clearing his throat and picking up the practice dagger he'd dropped.

“Uh... yes, all right,” she concurred, heading toward the storage shed to put her gear away. She glanced at him, suddenly curious if he was aware of the effect he had on her, but she couldn't tell. His impassive mask was in place, stoic as ever. If he felt anything of the sexual attraction she did, he wasn't giving in to it and he wasn't showing it.

A spark of hot, mischievous desire flared up and she wondered what it would take to make him lose that stoic veneer. She entertained the thought for a moment and considered backing him up against the wall and kissing him. Would he respond? She let herself ponder for a moment longer and then dismissed the entire notion as being wildly inappropriate.

She looked up to find him watching her with a curious expression on his face.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he answered.

He turned to walk back to the Keep and Rowan watched for a moment, admiring, as always, the languid grace with which he moved. The way his leather breeches hugged his trim, muscular arse was pretty appealing, too.

Then she shook her head regretfully and followed in silence. There was too much to do to be engaging in this kind of distraction. What was it he always said? _I don't think we should dally here._ Indeed, they should not dally.

 


	8. Revolting Peasants and Boyhood Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the peasants are revolting and the swamp is... swampy. ;)

“Well, this is all I fucking needed,” Rowan muttered under her breath as she and her Wardens walked into the courtyard of Vigil's Keep.

Varel and Captain Garevel were on the steps, trying to quiet a mob of what appeared to be farmers and peasants.

“What's going on here?” Rowan demanded.

The returning Wardens, their Commander in particular, were tired, cross, and had just spent considerable time in the Deep Roads at the ancient dwarven thaig of Kal'Hirol, fighting some new, hideous form of bizarrely mutated darkspawn, and that sort of thing was never conducive to putting anyone in a good mood. The only particularly good thing that came of it was that they managed to kill what looked like a hive of darkspawn broodmothers by dropping something very big and very heavy on them from a high place, and they recruited a dwarf rogue, Sigrun, who was a member of the Legion of the Dead.

Rowan had had contact with the Legion before, fought with them in the Deep Roads, and even persuaded them to lend a hand in the Battle of Denerim. The Legion were dwarves sworn to fighting the darkspawn, and to that end, they gave up their former lives, held a funeral to say goodbye to their friends and family, and left for the Deep Roads, never to be seen again. Sigrun was casteless, and her face was heavily tattooed like a member of the carta, the dwarven crime organisation. She seemed to long for death, but the dwarf was scrappy and smart and wanted to be a Grey Warden, and Rowan was happy to have her.

“Thank the Maker you've arrived,” Garevel said in his deep voice. “Things are getting out of hand.”

Rowan nodded wearily. The mob of peasants were shouting and apparently making demands. Rowan was mildly surprised they weren't waving pitchforks and torches.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nathaniel move to higher ground where he could get a clear shot with his bow if things got ugly. The other two Wardens likewise moved into strategic positions around the courtyard. Sigrun slipped into the shadows and watched.

“My son is starving!” shouted one of the apparent ringleaders, “Open the granaries! Bloody feed your people!”

Rowan raised her eyebrows in surprise. This was the first she'd heard about starving peasants. She did know things were difficult in the arling, but they were difficult throughout most of Ferelden, given a recent Blight and a civil war.

“Varel?” she said quietly to the senechal.

“I fear this must be the work of the conspiracy against you and the Grey Wardens. If the common folk just rose up on their own, I'll eat my boot.”

Rowan nodded. She actually hadn't taken the conspiracy too seriously. To her, it seemed like a bunch of disgruntled and puffed up nobles who were angry they were no longer able to get special favours and disreputable deals from the corrupt former Arl of Amaranthine. The conspirators were, apparently, more subtle than they seemed. She looked back at the mob with a hardened expression.

“Maybe you can say a few words?” Varel suggested. “Calm them down, make them see reason.”

“Varel, you don't coddle a revolt, you put it down!” Garevel growled. “Commander, my men are standing by. Just give the word.”

Rowan sighed. She wanted nothing more than a hot bath and a hot meal and a rest in a comfortable bed with clean sheets, in that order. She had no time for diplomacy, nor for mollifying peasants. Even if they had been stirred to revolt by disgruntled nobles – Rowan wished now she'd investigated the conspiracy more thoroughly, but it had not occurred to her that the conspirators would use the common folk against her – this nonsense had to be stopped. Give in now, and the message would be sent that the Grey Wardens could be bullied into submission. One little mob uprising and you could get whatever you wanted. Not a good precedent to set.

“I kill darkspawn by the score,” she said, loudly and clearly enough for her voice to carry. “What are a few peasants?”

“What?” the ringleader said, his eyes growing huge. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she answered, her voice like cold steel, “that I just came back from a mission in the Deep Roads, where I killed scores of darkspawn, to protect the likes of _you_ and _your families_. I'm tired, I'm irritable, and I'm covered with dirt and muck and blood and who knows what else, and I am in _no mood_ to deal with people showing up at my door screaming and making threats and accusations!” she thundered.

She took a step forward, and the crowd instinctively moved back.

“This is the _very first_ I've heard of anyone in this arling starving for lack of grain!” she continued. “Even if it's true, is this kind of mob action truly your _first recourse_? Instead of coming peacefully to discuss the problem, to present your case, your first and apparently only action is to gather a mob and scream at my seneschal and the captain of my guard while I'm away fighting darkspawn? If you insist on acting like a mindless horde, I am more than capable of putting you down like one!”

“You... you're bluffing,” the ringleader responded uncertainly. “You wouldn't do that.”

“Are you willing to try me?” Rowan asked, staring hard at the ringleader before she let her gaze sweep meaningfully over the rest of the crowd.

“Is this worth the risk?” one of the more moderate folk in the mob said, laying a hand on the ringleader's shoulder. “They'll kill us if we don't back down.”

“Use your wits,” Rowan urged in a much more modulated tone of voice. “Do you really think this kind of riot is the best course of action? If you do, then Void take you all, you deserve to die for your own foolishness. If there are genuine concerns about food distribution in the arling, you are invited to present a proper petition, and I will make sure that my senechal gives it priority. I'm often away fighting darkspawn and demons and other horrors in order to protect _you_ and _your families_ , so there might be some delay if you insist on having me review it, personally. I will promise you that I will hear your concerns and act on them as soon and as appropriately as I can, or I can authorise my senechal, here, to act as needed, with the clear understanding that while we don't want people starving, we will not allow the arling's supplies to be acquired by force or by coercion or by mob action.”

The ringleader was utterly dumbfounded, staring at Rowan with his mouth open. The other rioters were quiet, as well. The looked at each other and shuffled around a bit and cleared their throats and then eventually the ringleader nodded.

“Ah... as you say, my lady,” he said finally. “Thank you... for... your attention.”

“Are we finished here?” she asked pointedly. “Or do you intend to keep me even longer from my bath and my meal?”

“We... we'll go, my lady,” he answered contritely. Rowan nodded. She had completely taken the wind out of his sails, and she was profoundly relieved it had worked, but she wasn't going to show it.

“Good,” she said. “And I do not want to come home from fighting darkspawn or killing bandits or battling demons to find a riot on my doorstep ever again, do I make myself clear? I won't be as patient next time.”

The mob murmured and started to disperse.

“Captain Garevel, have your men gently and safely escort these people off the Keep's lands, and I do mean gently.”

Garevel nodded and Rowan cast a stern eye on the crowd and the soldiers as they moved from the courtyard. As she watched, Nathaniel jogged across to her, and the other Wardens moved toward her side.

“Impressive,” Nathaniel said with a faint smile. “So... were you bluffing?”

“Don't you know?” she asked, one eyebrow raised.

“No.”

She gave him a smirk. “Good.”

~*~

 

The Blackmarsh was not a nice place, to put it mildly. For one thing, it was unnaturally dark. For another, it smelled rather awful. Rotting vegetation, rotting fish, just rotten all over. Rowan wondered what in the name of Andraste's frilly knickers the Orlesian Grey Warden, Kristoff, had been doing here, but she supposed they'd find out soon enough. For the moment, she couldn't sense any darkspawn, though the hair on the back of her neck and on her arms was standing on end, making her decidedly uncomfortable. Anders suggested that the eerie feeling was due to the Veil being unusually thin in the area.

The rest of the group didn't seem any more at ease than Rowan. Nathaniel was humming quietly, as if to distract himself from the almost physical sense of damp foreboding.

“Figures the darkspawn would pick somewhere wet and muddy,” Oghren muttered. “I better not lose a boot.”

“I've heard about this place,” Anders said as they surveyed the area. “Didn't an entire village up and vanish or something?"

“My father used to tell me stories about the Blackmarsh when I was young,” Nathaniel volunteered. “There used to be a village here, but evil magic killed everyone and left the village empty.”

“How long ago was this?” Rowan asked.

“Just before the rebellion against Orlais began, so what would that be, what, eighty years or so? It was a great mystery at the time.”

“And no one has discovered what happened in all this time?” Rowan asked.

“No,” Nathaniel answered. “That's part of the allure of the story. When I was a boy, I used to dream of coming here and finding out what happened and setting things right.”

“You wanted to be a hero,” Rowan replied, her mouth curving into a smile. “That's... rather cute. And now, here you are, living out your boyhood dream.”

“So I am,” he acknowledged, thoughtfully looking out into the gloom and mist of the marshes. “You know, I had expected that when I returned from the Free Marches to Ferelden, it would be to take command of my father's garrison. If someone had told me I'd end up a Grey Warden, fighting both darkspawn and demons, I would have laughed. Interesting. So much for expectations.” He smiled somewhat ruefully and shook his head.

“Twisty, the paths of fate,” Rowan mused. “It is interesting, isn't it?”

“Anyway, the creepy, dank, foul-smelling, haunted marsh awaits,” Nathaniel said, clearing his throat slightly.

“And within it, your chance to be the hero you always dreamed of being,” Rowan pointed out.

Nathaniel turned and looked at her with a faint smile and an expression so intense it made her heart skip a beat.

“Will you two either get a room or get moving?” Oghren grumbled. Anders snickered but refrained from commenting.

Rowan smiled and shook her head and then took her usual place in the lead, and off they went to explore the dark and eerie swamp and set things right.

 


	9. Demons and Darkspawn and Swamps, Oh, My

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Wardens muck about in the haunted swamp and the Fade, and gain a strange new companion.

Deep within the Blackmarsh swamp, they found the camp and the corpse of the Orlesian Grey Warden, Kristoff, whose notes had led them here. They also found yet another talking, intelligent darkspawn, when it leapt out of the shadows to confront them.

“Yes,” the darkspawn snarled at Rowan as she stood over Kristoff's body, “that is your Grey Warden. The Mother told it to me that if he was lured to this place and slain, that in time, you would come. And the Mother, she was right. The Mother is always right.”

“Who or what is the Mother?” Rowan asked, though speaking to the creature made her skin crawl.

“The Mother is she that sent me. She that wished you to come to here, this place. I, here before you, is the First. And I am bringing to you a message. The Mother, she is not permitting you to further his plan, whether this you know or not. So she is sending you a gift,” the creature exclaimed in an especially ominous way as it stretched forth its hand.

A ball of eerie green light spread out from the creature's hand, unfurling magic and energy until the world faded away and everything went white and featureless and turned into nothingness.

When she regained her senses, Rowan was on the ground in what looked like the Blackmarsh, but... slightly wrong in all regards. It was as if someone had sucked most of the colour out of the world while simultaneously increasing the brightness of the sun or... whatever light source was there. Aspects of the visible area were shimmering. A sinking feeling came over her as she got to her feet in the strange landscape.

“No!” howled the First, who was apparently still with them. “We have come to the Fade, as well! It cannot be this! The Mother, she has deceived me! I am betrayed! Now I am being trapped in the Fade with you! Aughh! I am the fool!”

“So,” Rowan observed, “it would seem that the Mother considers you to be expendable.”

“I am the First!” the creature snarled. “I am not being expendable! Both the Grey Warden and the Mother shall be learning this! I will be leaving you to the Children. I will be finding my own path back into the world. Back to the Mother!”

The Children, which had apparently been pulled into the Fade with the rest of them, were the rather hideous darkspawn the Wardens had encountered in the Deep Roads, a sort of enormous beetle grub with a vaguely human face and spindly feet and small claws, which made them quite agile and strong. They spit poison, they could morph suddenly into even more powerful creatures, and they were quite virulent. Rowan had to fight the urge to retch the first few times they encountered the horrible creatures.

“We've seen these darkspawn before,” Nathaniel noted as the last of the creatures died in a squealing heap of twitching flesh after a short but hard battle. “They were at Kal'Hirol.”

“Why _are_ we seeing new forms of darkspawn?” Anders wondered aloud. “This isn't even a Blight.”

“Frankly, I'd prefer a Blight,” Rowan answered as she cleaned her blades on some nearby clumps of something that passed for grass. “Darkspawn are supposed to be generally bestial, to move in packs, in hordes, led by instinct and cunning and nothing more. When they're not being organised by an archdemon, they're supposed to be incapable of complex, coordinated attacks and intelligent action, but we've seen plenty of evidence that the darkspawn we're dealing with now are clever. Maker's balls, they even plant evidence and set up complicated traps! Definitely give me a mindless horde, even led by an archdemon, over... whatever is going on now.”

She had to check herself before she said more. She was too close to admitting her growing panic about the situation.

“I'd like to know who this 'Mother' is, and why she worked so hard to entrap us,” Nathaniel said grimly.

“Wait,” Oghren growled suddenly, turning in circles as he stared at the weird landscape, “Wait. What did that snarly bastard say? The Fade? We're in the sodding Fade? Isn't that where humans dream?!”

“Don't panic, Oghren,” Anders said in his healer's voice.

“What?! Of course I'm panicking, you hairless nughopper! Dwarves shouldn't be here! We don't dream, we sleep like a stone. Bah! Someone's gonna be coughing out a kidney when I'm done with them!”

“Oghren, it's all right,” Rowan said quietly but firmly. “I've been in the Fade before. It was before you were with me, but I'm sure I must have told you the story. This is Maker blighted annoying, I'll give you that, but it's not a crisis. We can do this. Now, take a deep breath or two and focus. I need your help. I expect there will be pummelling to do.”

That seemed to do the trick. The dwarf took a deep breath and then nodded.

“That's another story you need to tell me some time,” Nathaniel said quietly to Rowan as they set out into the distorted and strange environment.

The Fade proved to be as weirdly disturbing as it always was. They spent a good deal of time wandering around in it, as you do, encountering strange devices and odd situations. Eventually, they came to the Fade version of the decayed and abandoned village they had explored in the material world. Here, it was still vibrant and filled with people, apparently those who had inhabited the actual village so many years ago.

“This... must be what the village was like, before it was forgotten,” Nathaniel observed.

“Ah, so the village in the Blackmarsh is not entirely forgotten,” Anders said. “It lives on in the Fade. How odd.”

At the gates of the great mansion, which in the material world was a pile of ash and smoke-stained rubble, people were gathered, angry, shouting. They looked like the other villagers the Wardens had passed in the Fade village, but amongst them stood a glowing figure in armour.

“And who comes now?” asked the radiant knight as Rowan approached. “Yet more minions of the baroness? Or more souls she has tormented?”

“Commander,” Anders said quietly in Rowan's ear. “This is a spirit of the Fade. Be cautious. You say you've been in the Fade before, so you must know, spirits can be... unpredictable.”

Rowan nodded in acknowledgement and then turned to the spirit.

“We are Grey Wardens,” Rowan explained, “brought here against our will.”

“I know not what a Grey Warden is,” the spirit answered, “but clearly you are a stranger. Perhaps it is a sign. I am Justice. I have watched this place and seethed at the wrongs visited upon these poor folk, and now I seek to aid them.”

“Once we lived in the real world, and the baroness ruled over us,” explained a red-haired woman by the gate. “She took our children and used their blood to work dark and evil magic.”

A man beside her stepped up. “And when we rebelled and burned down her mansion, she cast one final spell that brought our spirits here. We've been trapped ever since, still under her rule. When we finally rose up against her evil, this is what she did to us.”

“It's been an unending nightmare,” sighed the woman. “Until Justice arrived, we didn't even know this wasn't real.”

“I could no longer stand by and watch,” the spirit said. “Tell me stranger, will you help us in this righteous task? The sorceress has fled into her lair, but a reckoning is called for. We must act.”

“Commander, if we can kill the baroness, it would break the spell,” Anders said. “These people would be free. We should help.”

Rowan turned to Nathaniel to see if he had an opinion. He just nodded, his expression grim. Oghren, too, gave a growling nod when Rowan looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

“What say you, stranger?” asked the spirit. “If this wrong is to be undone, we will need your aid.”

“We'll help, but we need to find a way out of the Fade,” Rowan explained.

“Out of... ah. I see. You come from the mortal realm. And you are trapped here? Then the injustice of your own situation underscores why these people must be avenged. Alas, I do not know how to cross the Veil back into your world. If you aid us now, however, I promise that I will help you search.”

“Fair enough,” Rowan said. “Let's go.”

The baroness came out onto the balcony of her mansion with some terribly Orlesian scolding about people visiting without a proper invitation. Then, after some back and forth accusations and useless parley, the baroness introduced her new ally, none other than the First.

“My path across the Veil lies in your defeat,” he told them. “This woman is being sending me back when I defeat you. And then the Mother will pay for her treachery.”

“Creature, you are unwise to strike a bargain with a woman such as this,” Rowan pointed out, which only served to infuriate the First as well as the baroness.

“Enough talk!” the darkspawn growled. “The battle is at hand!”

The battle was fierce, but fairly short. The assembled wraiths, guards, and others were no match for the Wardens, their villager allies, and the spirit of Justice.

“No! You fools!” shouted the baroness. “Why haven't you defeated them?”

“They are too much!” snarled the First. “You must be sending me back through the Veil now, before it is too late!”

“Oh, I will sunder the Veil,” the baroness answered with a scowl. “I'll send them all back, away from my realm! But you? Your life will provide the power!”

The First howled and tried to run away, but the baroness' magic was powerful, trapping the darkspawn easily and drawing its life force from it.

At the same time, the world again faded to white and then to nothingness, and Rowan found herself waking up on the ground in the very spot near Kristoff's body where they had been pulled into the Fade.

“You see, Oghren?” Rowan said as she rolled to her side and then sat up. “We're out of the Fade. It's all right.”

A rattling, groaning noise caught her attention and Rowan turned to see the body of Kristoff stirring. Rowan leapt to her feet, weapons at the ready, but they soon saw and understood that it was the spirit of Justice inhabiting the body. Trapped, it said mournfully, having been pulled through the torn Veil when the baroness cast her spell. Justice also informed them that the baroness, too, had crossed the Veil into the moral realm, and that while she had once been a mortal, herself, her many years in the Fade spent feeding off the souls of her victims had transformed her, made her powerful as well as dangerous, and she must be dealt with.

The baroness, they discovered, had transformed into a Pride demon. They found her near her old mansion, the one that the villagers had burned with her in it, and they fought the demon down, finally destroying it and breaking the spell over the swamp and its inhabitants for good.

“Well done,” the spirit announced. “The spell is broken and the baroness is dead. Justice is finally served.”

“Well, Nathaniel,” Rowan said, catching her breath, “at least now you know what happened to the village, and you had your hand in setting things right. Boyhood dream fulfilled?”

“Yes, although the answer to the mystery was not at all what I would have expected,” he answered with an expression that was a cross between a frown and a smirk. “Commander, you do lead me down strange and twisty paths.”

Rowan shrugged. “Maybe it's Fate.”

The spirit of Justice in the body of Kristoff wasn't exactly an abomination, though it was undead. The spirit could access the memories of the Grey Warden whose body it inhabited, though, and was confident about his abilities as a warrior and a Warden, and it... he wanted to come along with them to aid their cause, which he saw a righteous one. It was a supremely strange situation, to say the least.

Rowan had actually known and spent time with an abomination, or something close to it. Wynne, one of her travelling companions during the Blight, had been a spirit healer and bound to a spirit of Faith. Justice seemed as honourable as Faith, though with a different point of view. What really tipped the scale for Rowan, however, was Anders' enthusiastic fascination with the Fade spirit and how it was animating a mortal body and... mage things, apparently. Anders, like Wynne, was a spirit healer. Rowan assumed that spirit healers had a special affinity for, well, spirits.

And so the spirit-animated corpse of a deceased Orlesian Grey Warden came back to Vigil's Keep with the Wardens. Rowan reflected that it was probably one of the strangest decisions she'd ever had to make. She was hoping there wouldn't be too many more bizarre decisions like that, but she wasn't really counting on it.

 


	10. Surprise!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan gets a nasty surprise and Nathaniel gets a better opportunity to help.
> 
> Note: It's a bit gory in places. It's canon-typical violence, as noted in the tags, but I thought I'd just mention it.

When they returned to Vigil's Keep, Rowan was informed by the soldier at the gate that there were banns and nobles waiting for her in the great hall, wanting to talk to her about an apparently dire matter. She rolled her eyes and blasphemed under her breath.

“Why is it that there are always demanding situations and crises waiting for me when I get back from a mission?” she complained. “I'm covered in swamp muck, my feet hurt from walking around in wet boots, I'm hungry, I desperately need a hot bath and a change of clothes, and the moment I step in the gate, there are nobles who simply must see me immediately, because of course they must.”

“Commander,” Nathaniel said, frowning, “this could be trouble.”

“Oh, of course it's trouble!” Rowan retorted peevishly, throwing up her hands. “They're not here to to throw me a surprise party with rare Antivan brandy and frilly cakes from Orlais! Come on. Let's go see what these nobles need so urgently.”

The sour-faced Bann Esmerelle, armed and ready for battle, rounded on Rowan with a sneer immediately upon her entrance to the great hall. Nathaniel glanced around the room and saw Varel waiting for them, plus the nobles, and a handful of others in light and medium armour like rogues. He surreptitiously loosened his bow, and saw the other Wardens discreetly preparing their own weapons.

“I am here about the good arl,” Esmerelle announced loftily, “the good arl you killed.”

“I don't recall killing any good arls,” Rowan responded conversationally, “although I freely admit I killed the Butcher of Denerim.”

Nathaniel winced at Rowan's use of that epithet. The name was something he would never get used to. He knew it was well-earned, but he still found it disturbing.

“Rendon Howe was good to us!” Esmerelle insisted. “He was good to _me_.”

Nathaniel's lip curled in disgust. He wasn't entirely sure what the bann was implying, but the tone of her voice and the look on the woman's pinched face made him think there were favours exchanged for favours, and that Esmerelle's relationship with Nathaniel's father may well have gone right on into the exchange of very intimate favours.

“If Rendon Howe was good to you,” Rowan retorted, “I can only assume you're as corrupt as he was. Strange that you weren't at his funeral in Denerim. I should have thought if you two were that close, you would have made that effort. I heard nobody turned up, not even his own kin, and certainly none of his allies other than a few hired thugs who probably only came hoping to rob someone.”

Esmerelle gasped in shock, her face turning almost purple with rage. Rowan had hit the mark with that barb. Everyone knew perfectly well why no one had attended the funeral rites. No one dared being seen publicly associated with him. His crimes were infamous by the time of his death, and no one with even a shred of political or social awareness would want to be seen giving their last respects to him.

“Enough of your slander!” Esmerelle shouted, spittle actually flying from her mouth. “Rendon's death will finally be avenged!”

Esmerelle gestured with her hand, pointing at Rowan. Varel, standing beside the Commander, swivelled his head and turned suddenly, stepped forward, and took a crossbow bolt aimed at Rowan as he did so. Rowan gasped in shock as Varel fell to the floor, and again when the crossbowman hit the ground before he could even reload, one of Nathaniel's arrows lodged in his throat. Nathaniel put another one in him for good measure and the battle was engaged.

The nobles who were present were all armed and armoured, and the rogues with them were later discovered to be professional assassins, Antivan Crows. A number of guards and soldiers, led by Captain Garevel, arrived shortly after the fighting began. It was no contest.

Rowan personally took on Esmerelle in hand-to-hand combat. From his archer's vantage point, Nathaniel observed that Esmerelle was tough, but not very skilled, and he saw Rowan sneer when she finally twisted her blade and Esmerelle gurgled her last breath and collapsed on the floor in a spreading pool of blood.

The battle was quick and it was brutal, and at the end, the banns and nobles were as dead as their hired assassins.

“Anders,” Rowan commanded as soon as the last enemy fell, “see to Varel.”

“It was glancing blow,” the mage announced after a quick examination of the wound. “I can heal this immediately and he'll be right as rain.”

“That's a relief. Garevel, a word,” Rowan said, turning her attention to the captain of the guard, who was staring with concern at the defeated Bann Esmerelle.

“I have failed you, Commander,” Garevel said sombrely, his blonde head bowed. “I won't let it happen again.”

“I should have dealt with the conspirators before they had a chance to strike,” the Commander acknowledged. “That was my own error. However, from now on, posting armed guards in the main hall and other strategic locations inside the Keep might be a good thing,” Rowan suggested, and Garevel nodded gravely.

“I will have trusted men clean this up,” the captain said as he swept his gaze across the carnage. “We can keep this quiet for a while. There's enough cause for panic, already, Commander.”

“Indeed.” Rowan turned to the Wardens and said, “Everyone but Warden Howe can go, with my thanks. Go and get cleaned up and sorted out. Varel, I'm very glad you're well, please do go and get something strong to drink and have a rest, you've more than earned it. We'll speak later. Nate, a word with you, please.”

He nodded and she drew him aside.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Am I all right?” he returned in a shocked tone of voice. “You're the one who was almost assassinated.”

“I wasn't, though," she said dismissively. “I am grateful for Varel's quick reflexes. And to you for dropping that crossbowman so quickly. Right now, however, I'm more concerned about the things I said about your father. Bann Esmerelle infuriated me, and I reacted... harshly.”

“Ah. I see. I'm fine,” he reassured her. Nothing in the exchange was in any way surprising or shocking, though he hoped he didn't ever have to hear Rowan use the phrase _Butcher of Denerim_ in anger again.

Rowan nodded. “All right. I just wanted to check to see that you were... fine. And you are.”

Her own face, however, was slightly ashen and she seemed oddly disquiet.

“Thank you, I am, but it appears that you are not fine,” Nathaniel stated in a quiet tone of voice that would brook no argument or dismissal.

“I... no, I suppose I'm not,” she admitted, much to his surprise. "This incident reminded me a little too much of the way your father and Loghain had me stalked and hunted during the war."

“How can I help?”

“Uh... You... It's...” She looked at him with a slightly startled expression he couldn't quite read.

“What can I do to help?” he repeated.

“Well...” she responded, gathering her command presence around her like a cloak, “Varel has been pestering me for some time to name a second-in-command amongst the Wardens. If I'm incapacitated, there has to be someone in place to step in as Warden-Commander. You are certainly the best candidate for that position. You have the leadership training and the background, you know the Keep and the arling, you're a dedicated Grey Warden, and you've got a cool head in a crisis. I expect the formal title would be Lieutenant Commander of the Grey. It almost certainly just brings more responsibility and not much else, though there should at least be an increase in your stipend. I'll have to ask Mistress Woolsey about that. This possibly isn't the best time or place to ask this, but given recent events, I think I should ask if you're willing to accept the position.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good. Thank you. I doubt anyone will object, as I'm fairly certain nobody else would be willing to take the job. I'll speak to Varel and Garevel and let everyone else know tomorrow. Then I'll inform Weisshaupt by letter, and, I suppose, Queen Anora, who might be somewhat surprised to see the Howe name, but it should do something toward redeeming it. Right now, however, I'm going to order a hot bath while Garevel and his men clean up this damned mess. This whole thing is very... disconcerting,” she said.

He was worried about her. “I can see you're more shaken than you're letting on.”

“I... am, yes. I am in the habit of hiding my weaknesses, especially in front of those under my command,” she said. “When the leader is uncertain, it undermines morale and everything else, you know?”

“I'm honoured that you trust me enough to admit it.” He meant it.

She shrugged. “Well, you are my second-in-command now. You should know these things. You should also keep it to yourself, but keeping things to yourself is something you do quite well, so I'm not worried about that.”

He smiled at her. “Indeed, Commander. In fact, I would like to establish my new role as your second-in-command as soon as possible. Perhaps we could share a hot meal and a bottle or two of wine this evening, somewhere private, where you can let your guard down. I think you could do with some quiet company.”

“Are you asking me to dine alone with you, Lieutenant?”

“I am.” If he didn't know better, he'd think she might actually be flirting with him a bit, but she never flirted with him. He suspected she might have some wayward thoughts about him, now and then, especially if they were physically close, just as he did of her, but she didn't flirt with him, so neither did he flirt with her. “I haven't overstepped my boundaries, have I?”

“No, no, of course not,” she answered rather quickly. “I do have some documents you might want to read, command journals, that sort of thing. I can try to answer questions, too, if you have them, though my training as a Grey Warden was minimal and I've probably already told you everything I know. I suppose there must be a room somewhere here that would be suitable for a quiet meal, yes?”

“Of course. Let me take care of it with the staff. I'll also have a word with Garevel about the security measures and changes. I think it might be appropriate to station a guard outside your room and a few in the corridors around the personal quarters, at least until we're reasonably certain the immediate danger has passed. In the meantime, I suggest you go and get your bath and a change of clothes. I will escort you to your room, now, though, as a matter of safety.”

“That's really not... Yes, all right. Thank you.” Her guard was momentarily completely down and she looked surprisingly young and so very vulnerable, Nathaniel just wanted to sweep her up in his arms and hold her. Had they been alone, he might have done, but they were standing in the great hall, surrounded by dead bodies and a team of soldiers and guards who were starting the clean up, and putting his arms around her was entirely out of the question.

Instead, Nathaniel took her hand and carefully skirted the side of the hall so as not to track any more blood or entrails around the floor as they made their way to the exit that led to the corridor. Once through the door, he let go of her hand and walked beside her, carefully scanning the shadows and up and down the corridor, every sense alert to possible danger. Garavel had already put a guard in place outside the Commander's door. Nathaniel assumed the room had already been swept, but he intended to do it again, anyway. He checked every nook and cranny, searching for traps and anything else out of place, and when he was satisfied that the room was safe and clear, he stepped back into the hallway and stood aside so she could enter.

“There will be someone along with hot water shortly for the Commander's bath, which I will order when I get to the kitchen,” Nathaniel said to the guard. “I doubt there will be any issue, but just make sure you recognise the members of staff before you let them in the room. Do you want me to escort them back here for security?”

“Not necessary, ser,” the guard answered. “I know most of the staff, it should be no problem. And the Commander knows everyone here.”

“Do you?” Nathaniel asked, turning to Rowan.

“Yes. It's good practice to know the members of one's own household, by name if at all possible. Were you not taught this?”

“Of course I was. I just thought you wouldn't have had time to get to know everyone.”

“Oh, the staff isn't that big. It's far smaller than it ought to be, in fact, but that's a problem for another day. And I admit, I don't know all the soldiers and guards by name. But this is Evon, I believe?”

The guard beamed and nodded and Nathaniel had to smile. She did have that effect, without even trying.

“Shall I come and escort you to our meeting later, then?” Nathaniel asked.

“That would be fine,” she answered as she slipped into her room and shut the door. Nathaniel nodded to Evon and headed off to the kitchen to do what he could to assist his shaken commander.

 


	11. Dinner for Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel and Rowan take a breather and have a nice meal, some wine, an evening of conversation, and maybe a little flirtation. Or maybe not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, the closer to the end of the game story it gets, the more it diverges from canon and into its own story, with, yes, twists of fate and what I hope will be surprises.

“Commander? I've come to escort you to our meeting,” Nathaniel announced from the doorway, and Rowan smirked at him. He had made his announcement for the benefit of the guard stationed at her door. She knew it, and apparently found it amusing.

“Lieutenant,” she responded crisply as she gathered a stack of papers and journals. “I have the documents I mentioned. Shall we?”

She had bathed and dressed in a simple brown wool tunic and soft, warm leather leggings tucked into sheepskin boots, and she had left her damp hair loose around her shoulders. He inclined his head and stepped away from the door, and Rowan walked into the hallway, nodding to the guard as she did.

“The Commander and I will be in a meeting for several hours,” Nathaniel said to the guard. “No one is to enter this room in her absence. Understood?”

“Yes, ser,” the guard answered back sharply, and Nathaniel nodded.

They made their way along the hallway to a section of the second floor Rowan hadn't spent any time exploring, and Nathaniel led them to a parlour where a fire already crackled in the hearth and a small table had been set for dinner. Faded tapestries decorated the walls, and the furniture was antiquated, but the room had its own peculiar charm.

“Here, have a seat,” Nathaniel said, gesturing to the padded chairs by the fireplace.

Rowan nodded and settled herself in one of the chairs.

“Your hair is down,” she observed.

Indeed, his hair was combed back, damp from being freshly washed, but the small plaits he customarily worked into the sides to keep his hair out of his face were gone. He was amused that she'd noticed, let alone thought to comment.

“Yours, too,” he answered. “If you like, I could... uh... never mind.”

“No, tell me,” she insisted as she took a seat. “What were you going to say?” She put the small stack of documents she'd brought onto a side table by her chair.

“I was going to offer to plait your hair for you,” he admitted almost sheepishly. “I'm quite good at it. I used to comb and plait Delilah's hair. Adria taught me how, but in time, Delilah insisted I was the only one who could do it properly. Clever fingers, you know.” He raised a hand and wiggled them for emphasis.

“I didn't realise that you and your sister were that close.”

“She used to have night terrors when she was quite small. Later, it became nightmares. Her room was next to mine, and I'm a very light sleeper, so I was usually the first person to hear her if she cried out, and I started to go to her when she woke. Eventually, she started to come to me for comfort whenever she was frightened or hurt, and I would do what I could to make her feel better and help her settle. Combing and plaiting her hair was one of those things.”

“That's... very sweet.”

“You could put it that way,” he answered with a shrug. “But I've always thought it more unfortunate that she needed her older brother to comfort her in the first place. By the time Delilah was born, my father's household was not a very happy place, and there was a lot to upset or frighten her. I worried about her when I was sent off to the Free Marches. She was still so young. I'm glad she's happy now. Albert seems to look after her very well, indeed.”

“I'm... sorry to hear your home was like that,” Rowan said quietly, her expression sombre.

The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of an elven man who was carrying a tray laden with food and drink. He quickly set about putting out covered dishes on the small dining table, though he had also brought a folding side table where some remained, along with a second bottle of wine. Rowan thanked him by name as she got up from the chair by the fire and made her way to the table. The elf smiled, bowed slightly, and shut the door as he left.

Nathaniel pulled out her chair and seated her. It was a simple act of courtesy best suited to a woman wearing voluminous skirts, so that the chair didn't catch on her hem, and it was entirely unnecessary for the way she was dressed, but he wanted to do it. She seemed both surprised and pleased by the gesture, so he decided it had been the right thing to do. His primary goal for the evening was to distract her, comfort her if he could, and help her let go of some of the stress and tension she perpetually seemed to carry with her.

“Well,” Nathaniel said as he settled into his own seat, “I don't think we've ever shared a meal together in private.”

Rowan dished herself a helping of the thick pea and bacon stew from the tureen. Traditionally, it was meant to be pea and lamb, but fresh meat was in short supply given the upheavals across the nation.

Fortunately, when the Keep had been host to the Orlesian Wardens, they had brought in an Orlesian chef, and that chef had remained. He was particularly skilled at making tasty meals from limited ingredients, an absolute necessity at the moment, with so much of the available ingredients being dried, pickled, salted, smoked, or otherwise preserved. Even with limited resources, the chef managed to make the meals both tasty and interesting.

The chef had picked up a few traditional Ferelden dishes such as the pea stew, but had subtly improved on them in various ways. In this case, the bacon was actually a better choice than the lamb might have been, and gave a pleasant smoky saltiness to the simple dish.

“We have shared a meal alone, if you count the dining hall that night you came back after visiting Delilah,” Rowan answered. “We were the only people there.”

“Ah, yes,” Nathaniel said as he poured wine first into her goblet and then into his own. “I do remember that, but it was in the dining hall, so I didn't connect it with privacy, though I suppose it was. Here, I made sure we'd have plenty of wine. I thought you could use it. You have quite a lot to deal with just now.”

“Yes,” she agree with a tired sigh. “I am... momentarily unnerved.”

“And here I thought you were unshakable.”

“I... It's important that I appear that way. I can't be seen to be anything but confident and in control. Heroic, if I can pull it off. But it's not always true. It's not even usually true. Especially the hero part.”

He reached out and took her fingers in his, and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles.

“I understand,” he said with quiet conviction. “Don't worry, Commander. Your secrets are safe with me.”

“I know,” she answered softly, “and I'm grateful. If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't have let you see... my weaknesses. And... please call me Rowan, at least when we're alone. I get so tired of not having a name but only having a rank or a title.”

Nathaniel smiled. “As you wish, Rowan. I've never asked, but I assume your parents named you after the queen?”

“Yes. If I'd been a boy, they were going to call me Maric,” she answered with what appeared be an automatic response. “The documents I brought you to read are from Duncan, the former Warden-Commander, and also Riordan, the Senior Warden who died in the Battle of Denerim. It's fairly dry reading, but there are things to be learned. I've written to Weisshaupt to try to get more documents and records if they have them, but no response yet, and they aren't terribly responsive. So, do you have questions?”

“Oh, I have endless questions,” Nathaniel remarked as he started to tuck into his stew. “You said once you'd fought dragons and would tell me about it some time. This seems like an excellent time to do that.”

“Uh, I meant questions about the post of Lieutenant Commander of the Grey, but, very well. Should be good for a distraction, anyway,” she said with a little laugh. “Way up in the Frostback Mountains, there is an isolated village called Haven which was populated by an ancient and probably entirely inbred cult of blood-sacrificing dragon worshipers...”

It was quite a long story and it involved a famous scholar, a fair few blood mages and reavers, discovering scenes of ritual sacrifice, and, eventually, lots of dragons that ranged from hatchlings through a high dragon.

Nathaniel was rapt and interrupted only occasionally to ask a question for clarification. He refilled her goblet a few times, and they lingered over their dessert, which was some kind of Orlesian baked custard with a sweet, crunchy, crystalised layer on top, making Nathaniel glad the Commander had taken pains to make sure the Keep had dairy cows and goats, as well as ducks and chickens for eggs. At some point, they finished their meal and moved back to the comfortable chairs by the fire, goblets in hand.

“When I was a child,” Nathaniel commented as he settled himself, “I visited a travelling fair that had an entire dragon skeleton on exhibition. I thought that was impressive, but...”

“What a waste!” Rowan exclaimed. “In the hands of a skilled craftsman, you can get extraordinary weapons from dragon bones.”

“Trust you to be the pragmatist,” Nathaniel said with a smile. “Go on. Were there more dragons?”

“No, actually. The high dragon that the cultists insisted was Andraste reborn was the last one. After that there was a series of tests to prove your worthiness or some such. How answering riddles with obvious answers, solving puzzles, talking to someone from your past, doing literal battle with some kind of spirit version of yourself, and eventually walking naked through illusionary flames is supposed to prove your piety, I have no idea.”

“Who did you face? The person from your past?”

“My father. He... it was an illusion. It wasn't really my father. Some spirit or something. It looked like him, though. And sounded like him. Made my heart ache to hear him. He told me his death had no hold over me, but that wasn't true then and it isn't now. His death, and his... final wishes for me... will always affect me.”

A look of profound sadness fell over her face as she gazed into the fire. He knew nothing would heal that loss, but he wished he could reach out and take her hand for comfort and solidarity. Unfortunately, the chairs were too far apart. He decided to distract her, instead, and he was pleased that distraction was something she accepted, maybe even welcomed.

“So you actually entered the Temple of the Sacred Ashes?” Nathaniel asked. “The ashes of Andraste, herself... I'd heard that the Hero of Ferelden found the Temple of Sacred Ashes, of course, but... Maker's mercy, Rowan, I know you think of yourself as just doing what needs to be done, but when the thing that needs to be done is to find a centuries-lost temple that holds a holy relic of legendary power, well... Even you are going to have to admit it's extraordinary.”

“All right. I admit it,” she agreed with a faint smile. “I'm not very pious, but walking into that inner sanctum... naked, mind you... was very humbling and more than a little awe inspiring.”

“I would expect so,” Nathaniel mused.

“You and your expectations,” Rowan retorted with a smirk. Nathaniel grinned in response.

“How are you feeling now?” he asked.

“I feel... warm, inside and out. And relaxed. How many times did you refill my goblet?”

“I wasn't counting,” he answered with a shrug. “Do you feel like you can sleep? There's no hurry. We can stay here as long as you like. I'm sure you have many fascinating stories to tell.”

“Is this what you did with Delilah? Sit up with her and get her to tell you stories?”

“Sometimes, when she was older and knew some stories. When she was small, I told her stories. Though sometimes she'd just wander into my room and climb into my bed and fall asleep there.”

“Are you inviting me to sleep in your bed?” Rowan asked, and then, as if she realised what she'd just said, her cheeks flushed bright red and her green eyes went wide. It was absolutely adorable. He considered teasing her, but thought better of it. It was hard enough to get her to let down her defences.

“In fact,” Nathaniel answered, “you already sleep in my bed, so to speak. You're in my old room.”

“I... Oh. Am I?” she responded. “The staff did offer me the master suite, but I... didn't really want to sleep there.”

“I don't blame you,” Nathaniel answered. He didn't like to think what his father might have gotten up to in there. An image of the rather unpleasant Bann Esmerelle came to his mind unbidden and he shook his head slightly to try to dislodge the thought.

“Whose room do you have?” Rowan wanted to know. “Anyone's?”

“Actually, it was my mother's.”

“Your parents didn't share a room?”

“No. Well, they did once, but not since shortly after Thomas was born. I don't know what happened, but after that they stayed as far away from each other as they could, except for what they had to do for appearances sake. The annual Satinalia ball, for example. Or hosted tournaments. That sort of thing.”

“Oh.” She had the grace to look genuinely saddened by the thought.

“If you're ready, I'll escort you back to your room,” Nathaniel suggested gently. In fact, he was very much enjoying her company, but he had the strong suspicion she hadn't had a decent night's sleep in a long time. Full of good food, decent wine, and in what was an apparently relaxed state, he hoped she'd be able to get some rest.

“Escort me to your room, you mean?” she answered with a smile.

“My former room, now your room.”

“I wasn't... making inappropriate suggestions before. I was trying to make a joke.”

“Yes, I know. You flirt with everyone but me, it seems,” he answered. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.

“I... Just who do you think I flirt with?” she asked, her brows drawing together in what Nathaniel might describe as a charming frown.

“Anders, for one,” he answered. “And Oghren.”

“Oghren? No. That's just... Oghren. And Anders flirts with everyone, or hadn't you noticed?”

“I have. Not everyone flirts back, though.”

She shrugged. “It's just a bit of fun. Are you jealous?”

“Ah, so you are able to flirt with me, after all, then. Good to know.”

“I wasn't... I think I've had more wine than I should have. I'm tripping over my own tongue. Never mind. I should go to bed. You don't need to escort me. I'm fine.”

“As your second-in-command, I must insist. Consider it a security measure, given the day's events.”

She sighed but acquiesced, and Nathaniel gathered up the journals and other materials she'd brought for him before they left the cosy parlour.

Nathaniel nodded to the guard outside her room when they arrived there.

“Commander Cousland would like to retire for the evening. Is the room secured?”

“It is, ser,” the guard answered.

“In you go,” Nathaniel said to Rowan, gesturing to the door. “Or do you want me to come in with you? I could plait your hair and tuck you up.”

He had only intended his comment to be light and playful, a reference to their earlier conversation, but the look she gave him in response made his mouth go so dry he had to swallow hard. He didn't think he ought to dwell on what might be behind that look. She'd had a particularly trying day and rather a lot of wine, and Maker only knew what was going through her head.

“I can tuck myself,” she answered, and he had to struggle to keep his expression impassive as a variety of decidedly prurient images flashed through is mind. Was she doing it deliberately or...? Perhaps they'd both had more wine than he realised.

“Good night, Commander. Sleep well,” he said, his voice carefully controlled. “I'm sure there will be more excitement all too soon.”

“Oh, yes, the excitement never ends,” she agreed. “Good night, Lieutenant.”

Nathaniel nodded to the guard and turned to go to his own room, but he couldn't help but smile at the thought that she was tucking herself into his bed.

 


	12. Climax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Amaranthine Conflict, as it would become known, reaches its climax. 
> 
> (Sorry. No other climaxes. Yet. But there is a brief POV switch to a character I haven't used for POV before.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly exposition. I tried to summarise the end of the game story without getting too involved, but still ending that story, which I felt was important for the whole thing. It's going to go notably off-canon very soon (hint: a particular character who always dies won't, and another who should die according to the game also won't, because I like them and want to keep them around).

The culmination of the darkspawn uprising was wrenching in more ways than one. A runner appeared at Vigil's Keep to say that the city of Amaranthine was under attack by darkspawn. Rowan chose a small team of Wardens for what was generally regarded by all present as a high-risk mission.

The phrase “suicide mission” made Sigrun immediately volunteer, but Rowan had a different team in mind. First, Anders, because a healer who can shoot fire out of his fingers is always good in a fight. Anders was not thrilled, and grumbled as he went to gather his gear.

Oghren, however, was always up for a fight, and was happy to join Rowan on the mission.

And then there was Nathaniel. She knew she should leave him at the Keep, since he was her second-in-command and if they both died, the Wardens would have no one on hand to step in, but she wanted his archer's talents and she wanted his opinions. She also wanted his steadying influence, but she wasn't prepared to admit that out loud.

When they finally reached the city and assessed the situation, Rowan discovered that Vigil's Keep had, in their absence, been attacked by darkspawn. The city of Amaranthine was still under attack, as it seemed that one faction in the darkspawn civil war one in the city, the other was at the Keep. She was in the unenviable position of having to choose whether they stayed to try to save the city, which, by the time they got there, was badly damaged and had suffered great loss of life, or returning to defend the Keep.

It was a terrible choice to have to make, but she was the Commander of the Grey as well as effectively the Arl of Amaranthine and it was her duty to make the decisions that no one else could, or would, and to live with the consequences.

Nathaniel had argued in favour of the Keep, for strategic reasons, which Rowan could understand. Oghren, too, favoured saving the Keep, though Anders argued that they should stay and save the city and its people.

In the moments she was given to decide how to proceed, she reckoned she would just have to to trust in the effort and coin she had invested in the Keep's fortification, and trust in the Wardens and soldiers who were still there to defend against the army of darkspawn. Four more Wardens probably wouldn't make that much difference in the long run, not at the Keep. And, if worse came to worst, the Grey Wardens and the fortress could be rebuilt. She'd done more with less.

Trying to save the city was probably not something a hardened Grey Warden would do, and she knew it, but in Rowan's mind, her position as arl made her responsible for the well-being of the arling as a whole. Burning the city, which was what the captain of the city watch was advocating, was a fine option for containing the darkspawn, but it was not, in Rowan's opinion, in the best interests of the arling, or the people. The city might still be lost, but she'd defended Redcliffe from an army of undead and Denerim from a sea of darkspawn, and this didn't seem any different. Amaranthine would be salvaged, if it could be.

Once Oghren and Nathaniel understood her reasoning and saw that she was resolute in her decision, they both supported her, as ever, and the small group of Wardens, assisted by a few of the surviving city guards, did what they could to kill all the darkspawn in the city and save what people were left. As it happened, there were far more survivors than first estimated. Rowan felt vindicated in her decision, at least on that count.

Then they had received information which forced them to move on, exhausted, not knowing the fate of the Keep or its inhabitants. They travelled across the arling to the Dragonbone Wastes, stopping to rest only when absolutely necessary, eating dry rations as they marched, and wasting as little time as possible. The Wastes turned out to be murky, shadowed, full of ancient Tevinter ruins and absolutely reeking of dark magic and strange rituals. They met, once again, the bizarre and twisted darkspawn being known as the Architect, he who had imprisoned them in the silverite mine in the Wending Wood, and Rowan was faced with yet another deeply disturbing dilemma.

The Architect spun them a tale of how the Blights were a tragedy for the darkspawn – his _people_ , he called them – as well as for those who lived on the surface. He spoke of wanting to stop the Blights. He confessed that he had taken the blood of Grey Wardens to try to make a potion or an elixir to free his people, something that would awaken them from their endless enthralment to the dark song of the Old Gods, and it had worked, at least to some extent.

It was the Architect who had created the intelligent, speaking, awakened darkspawn they had encountered. And he had, to his admitted regret, created the Mother. Once awakened, she had craved the song which had once lulled and soothed her so much that she had gathered a faction of darkspawn who similarly longed for the song, who needed its comfort and beauty. She and her followers had begun a war against the Architect and his. She was also the mother of the hideous new darkspawn creatures known as the Children.

The Architect wanted the Wardens to ally with him against the Mother. He wanted to be left in peace to try to stop the Blights. It was the strangest and most confounding decision Rowan had ever had to make. This decision was mired in speculation and ambiguity, with no clear answers. Kill the Architect, or let him live, as simple as that.

Nathaniel, of course, had not hesitated to voice his opinion on the matter. He was her second-in-command, after all, and she trusted him, even if they didn't always agree. In this case, though, their opinions aligned. Somewhat surprisingly, Oghren agreed with Nathaniel and Rowan. Anders was in direct opposition.

In the end, Rowan decided to go with the majority and allow the Architect to live, partly because while he had done some shockingly destructive things, she did actually believe that his end goal and hers were the same: stopping the Blights. He promised to call the darkspawn to himself, to clear the Deep Roads as much as possible. The knowledge that he had accidentally started the Fifth Blight by trying to awaken the Old God, Urthemiel, didn't sit well with her for many reasons, but the decision was made, and the Architect was not slain.

When they finally met the Mother, she turned out to be a hideously disturbing and deeply disturbed darkspawn broodmother, highly intelligent and apparently insane. She had clearly been human before being corrupted and transformed, and she may have been a mage, given the extraordinary power she wielded. The battle was pitched and difficult and long.

Just when Rowan thought they might be winning, she had been physically thrown, slamming into a rock formation when she landed. Pain coursed through her body when several bones broke at once as her body smashed into the hard surface. She reached for a healing potion, but it was too late, and the world spun out of reach. Just before it all went black, she'd heard Nathaniel's anguished cry as he shouted her name. Her last thought before she lost consciousness was that she wasn't worried. Nathaniel was with her, and he had her back.

 

~*~

 

Anders saw the Commander go down, flung across the cavern by one of the broodmother's tentacles, and then he heard Nathaniel scream out her name. Then the rogue roared, his eyes blazing with fury, and he turned to the wounded broodmother and absolutely showered her with arrows, turning her into a very large, twitching pincushion. But that wasn't enough for him. As the blighted creature thrashed about in the throes of death, Nathaniel rushed in with his daggers, stabbing the dying broodmother repeatedly in the chest until she finally stopped moving.

Anders had never seen anything like it. He'd certainly never seen anything that emotional from Nathaniel. It just confirmed what Anders had suspected for a long time.

As soon as the battle was over, the rogue rushed to the Commander's side, kneeling beside her, shouting for Anders to heal her.

“Move aside, then,” Anders ordered, and Nathaniel growled but did as he was asked.

Anders gave her a quick visual inspection and reached out with his healer's sense. It looked like several broken ribs, and there was a broken bone protruding from the skin of her forearm. Also multiple cuts and abrasions, probable head injury, moderate blood loss, and some other possible internal injuries, but none felt deadly serious. He immediately moved his hands fairly close over her body, fingers spread, infusing her with just enough healing magic to stop the bleeding and patch any internal injuries so she was stable.

“Battle won?” Rowan managed to mumble in a shaky voice as the healing took effect and she started to regain some consciousness.

“Yes, Nate finished the thing off, almost single-handedly,” Anders told her in a slightly amused tone of voice as he dug in his pack for some potions to have at the ready. “You should have seen him. He pumped her full of arrows with alarming speed and precision, and then, just to make sure, got out his daggers and stabbed her far more times than necessary. It was quite the show of skill and battle fury. Pity you missed it, I'm sure you would have been impressed. But now, my dear lady, I'm going to put you to sleep so we can fix that nasty fracture in your arm.”

“All right,” she answered almost happily. Definitely head injuries. The Commander was never that docile, especially about magical sleep, which she generally resisted at all costs. It was only the blink of an eye before she was completely unconscious under Anders' spell.

“Nate, I need your help,” the mage said. “She's going to struggle, even asleep, but I have to set the bone properly before I heal it. You'll need to hold her steady, pin her down. She's got some broken ribs on this side, but you should be able to put a good deal of pressure on her without doing further serious injury, or, at least, no injury that I can't heal along with everything else. Also, maybe try not to watch while I work on this arm. It won't be pretty. You won't want to see it.”

Nathaniel nodded and took a deep breath before he straddled her body and sat on her thighs, leaning forward to press her shoulders to the ground with the weight of his upper body.

“That should do it,” Anders said with a nod. He unbuckled the bracer on her injured arm and inspected the wound and the fracture. “Maybe try pinning her down like that when she's conscious and healed, though. Would be a lot more fun.”

“Shut up, Anders,” Nathaniel growled. “There's nothing between the Commander and me.”

Anders took hold of her upper arm and tucked it under his own arm and and then slowly, carefully, manipulated the bone, tendons, and flesh until things were back where they should be. He felt carefully with his fingers and his healer's sense, checking both inside and outside the wound. When he was satisfied with the placement, he called on his healing magic again to set everything into place and knit the flesh and bone back to health.

“Oh, I beg to differ. There is definitely something between you and the Commander,” Anders commented as he watched the wound close and heal. “That should do it for the arm. Going to be a scar, but there's nothing I can do about that. I try to avoid it, but an injury like that is going to leave its mark no matter how much magic you pour into it. You can move now, Nate. You did a good job. I felt her trying to struggle, but she couldn't move and mess up my work.”

Nathaniel moved quickly to the side, but still hovered near her as Anders worked, slowly and deliberately, a little bit of magic at a time directed to different areas.

“It's been a long time since I've treated anyone who was this badly injured,” the mage commented. “I've certainly never seen _her_ fall in battle.”

Oghren had been silent up until that point, but the dwarf finally spoke. “I have,” he grunted. “Another broodmother, way down in the Deep Trenches. She wasn't the only one to fall in that fight. Takes a sodding strong, tough enemy to take her down. She gonna be okay, Sparkle-fingers?”

“Of course,” Anders answered. “Though she's going to be in some pain for a little while. I can help with that, willow bark and elfroot and a few other things, but it'll take at least some time for everything to be back to normal, even with the herbs and magic and the famous Grey Warden vigour. Now, we all know she's going to want to push it to travel back to the Keep and see what's happened there, but do your best to force her to take it a little slower. A day or two won't make much difference to the Keep, but it could make a lot of difference for her. All right then. Anyone else for healing? Nate, are you wounded?”

“It's just a flesh wound,” Nathaniel ground out. “I'll take a potion. It's fine.”

“I can pop the cork on a healing potion as well as Howe can,” Oghren answered.

“All right then. Just give her a few more minutes to settle, give me the chance to refresh some of my spent mana, and then I'll wake her up and get a healing potion into her. That will sort her out well enough to travel and to fight if we have to.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Anders saw Nathaniel exhale, his shoulders slumping in relief. A smile played just at the corners of the mage's mouth, but he said nothing.

 


	13. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone takes a collective look around and a deep breath and assesses the damage.

The group of Wardens trudged along in silence at a brisk pace, the Commander leading as usual. The trip back across the arling had thus far been mercifully uneventful, and she was clearly restless. As Anders had predicted, she wanted to get back to the Keep as soon as possible, so she pushed on, despite the attempts of her Wardens to decrease the pace.

Eventually, she did give in and they stopped mid-afternoon to make camp in a sheltered glade by a small stream. Nathaniel offered to set up her tent for her, given how badly injured she'd been, but she declined. She was carrying on, even if she was exhausted, which she almost certainly was. She certainly looked it. If there was one thing Rowan Cousland could do, it was keep pushing forward. She eventually sat down by the fire Anders had built and made herself a cup of tea while she chewed on some rations.

The others spoke amongst themselves, just light conversation and stories, but the Commander didn't seem to be paying any attention to any of it, and did not participate in any way. When the sky had completely darkened, she said, “I'll take the pre-dawn watch. I'm going to bed, once I answer the call of nature.”

Nathaniel quietly put his mug aside and looked at his companions, both of whom seemed to be as concerned about her as he was. He indicated with a gesture that he was going to keep an eye on her, and he rose from his seat by the fire to quietly followed her into the darkness.

He heard more than saw her in a shadowed area, working at her armour. He was normally exceptionally good at moving silently, but he managed to rustle some leaves very slightly. It was not something most people would have even heard, let alone been alarmed by, but, Rowan being Rowan, she had her daggers out in a flash.

“Declare yourself!” she demanded, as if a bear or a darkspawn or even a hare would actually answer.

“It's Nathaniel,” he answered quickly. “I'm just watching your back. So to speak. I'm not actually watching... you know.”

She sighed and sheathed her daggers and got back to her business and then stepped to the nearby stream to wash her hands. By that time, his eyes had adjusted to the darkness fully, and he was right beside her as she squatted by the water.

“Why are you shadowing me?” she asked him rather indignantly. “I really can look after myself, you know.” She got to her feet, shaking her hands, and he looked at her, only just able to make out her features in the dark.

“I know you can. But maybe you don't do as good a job of that as you should.”

She stared at him, scowling, her mouth open as if she was going to say something, but nothing came out. Without warning, she took a step and then collapsed onto her knees, her head sagging forward, arms listless at her side. He thought she might start to cry, but she made no sound at all apart from breathing.

“Commander?” he asked. She remained still and silent. “Rowan?” He sat down beside her and nearly pleaded with her, “Rowan, please, talk to me.”

“Too much,” she eventually grunted. “It's all just too fucking much.”

Nathaniel took a deep breath and then took her hand and tugged and manoeuvred a bit to coax her to where he could pull her onto his lap, cradled in his arms with her head against his shoulder. It was a strange and very possibly inappropriate way to handle his exhausted commanding officer, but he hoped their friendship and level of trust was strong enough that she would just accept the comfort he offered and leave it at that. He was relieved when she relaxed against him and gave a shuddering sigh. It was good to have her in his arms, where he felt like he could keep her safe, even if only for a little while. The leather battle armour they were both wearing made the situation far less intimate than it might otherwise have been, which took away some of the awkwardness the situation might have generated.

“You haven't had more than snatches of sleep for days, or even weeks,” he said, gently stroking her hair. “Then you were badly injured in that battle with the broodmother. All this trouble with the city and the darkspawn and Esmerelle and, well, everything, has to have taken a toll. And I understand you have some other things weighing on you, too. It's no wonder you're overwhelmed. I wish you'd take better care of yourself, instead of pushing yourself until you quite literally drop.”

She grunted, but she didn't argue, and she did let him hold her for a while, neither speaking. Eventually, though, she thanked him for his assistance and mumbled something about pressing forward before she pulled away and got to her feet. Nathaniel quietly accompanied her to the camp and saw her to her tent. He very much wanted to go inside, help her out of her armour, wrap her up in her bedroll, and see her safely to sleep, but given the intimacy of actually putting her to bed, he promptly let go of the notion.

“She's utterly exhausted,” he said quietly to Anders and Oghren as he came back to the fire. “She needs to sleep.”

Nathaniel looked meaningfully at Anders, who waited a few minutes and then quietly approached her tent. He called out softly to her and cautiously poked his head in the flap, then stepped in briefly, probably to check on her as a healer. When he emerged, he surreptitiously wove a sleep spell around her tent and then came back to the fire.

“She'll sleep now, probably for few hours, at least. Maybe even until sunrise,” he said. “She won't be at all happy that I did that, but she can't keep going like she is.”

“Pity there's no magic to unstubborn a stubborn woman,” Oghren grunted.

“Indeed,” Nathaniel agreed, and stared into the fire without further commentary.

 

~*~

 

Vigil's Keep had, for the most part, withstood the onslaught of a darkspawn army, though it had not escaped unscathed, nor had the inhabitants of the Keep.

Apart from the scores of guards and soldiers who were injured or lost, Seneschal Varel had been gravely injured and was slipping in and out of consciousness as he had been for some time. Immediately upon learning of Varel's situation, Rowan fled to his side, pulling Anders along with her. She was deeply fond of Varel, and felt desperate to save him if she could, in a way that she could never have saved her father.

“We should have gotten here sooner!” she lamented as she sat beside the unconscious man. “Anders, save him and I'll forgive you for that sleep spell in camp after the battle.”

“You know those few hours of sleep would not have made any difference,” he said gently as he passed his hands over Varel's head and body, checking for injuries or infusing healing magic or peering into Varel's soul or whatever it was spirit healers did.

“I know,” she answered in a choked voice. “I know. But please. Try to save him. I forgive you, anyway."

A number of the Keep's walls collapsed, one, apparently, on top of Velanna. When they cleared the rubble, there was no body, no blood, no trace of the Dalish elf at all. Rowan suspected strongly that Velanna had taken the opportunity to use her magic to engineer an escape, and had possibly even collapsed the wall herself as a cover, and then taken off, probably in search of her sister, Seranni, who had never left the Architect's service. Rowan was not happy to have lost a Warden mage, and she had come to a grudgingly tolerant and what might be called friendly relationship with Velanna, but Rowan had to admit she was not going to miss being called _shem_ all the time, nor feeling like she was always walking on eggshells around the volatile elf who had a chip on her shoulder the size of her head.

Then there was the loss of the Grey Warden known as Justice. The body of the deceased Grey Warden, Kristoff, which had been inhabited and animated by the Fade spirit known as Justice, was no longer animate, the body's head having been severed in the battle. No one knew what happened to the spirit of Justice, itself. Justice had clearly believed that it needed a host to survive in the mortal world, so it was really anyone's guess where, if anywhere, it had gone, whether or not it had survived the decapitation of Kristoff's body, and whether or not it really could maintain its existence in a realm so alien to its own.

Nathaniel was, for whatever reason, keeping his distance from most everyone. He was very quiet, stoic, and seemed to be brooding. This wasn't an uncommon thing for him, but Rowan had felt for certain that their growing friendship gave them a kind of connection she would have expected to overcome the distance, but it seemed not. She tried not to dwell on it, and she gave him his privacy, as she always did when he went into one of these quiet, moody periods.

Rowan suspected he was mourning the loss of Velanna. He'd always been inclined to flirt with the elf, and while Velanna had been resistant and prickly at first, she had seemed to be warming to him. Rowan wouldn't have admitted it out loud to anyone, but listening to Nathaniel flirt with Velanna was also something Rowan would not miss.

So the Commander of the Grey took to spending time every day with the old soldier who was her trusted and slowly recovering seneschal, reading to him, chatting about light topics, telling him stories while conveniently leaving off the gory, horrifying bits. Varel wasn't that much like her father, not really, but he still reminded her of him in many ways. She was determined to do what she could to keep Varel alive, at least from wounds sustained in a surprise attack. She'd saved his life once, during the first darkspawn attack on the Keep, the night she arrived. He'd later saved her life by taking a crossbow bolt. Now, maybe she'd be able save his life again, or at least help.

It was all quite a lot to take in and to deal with, and Rowan was exhausted in a way she had never been before. She felt crushed under the weight of everything that had happened in her life since that horrible night when Rendon Howe's soldiers had attacked Highever Castle. Sometimes she felt like she was going to suffocate. Sometimes, she almost wished she would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I let Velanna go because I kept her at first in early drafts and found she really didn't do much for the story, and, as I've mentioned, I don't like her much, anyway. Here's hoping she finds Seranni and gains some peace.
> 
> And then the canon diverges (not for the first time, and it will happen more and more). 
> 
> I kept Varel alive because, dammit, I LIKE him. He'll probably be stepping down from most of his many duties, but he'll be around the Keep, and also have some light duties to keep him busy and interested. I also saw it as a way for Rowan to try to heal at least some of her guilt with regard to her father's death. We all know she couldn't have done anything to prevent it, but survivor guilt isn't logical. 
> 
> Sigrun survived because I love Sigrun and I like how she always keeps surviving despite herself. She will continue to do so for as long as I'm writing her (that's not a spoiler, it's a promise).


	14. Anders Lights the Fuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Oghren worries about his friend and Anders gives Nathaniel a little nudge.

The situation within the arling of Amaranthine was mercifully settling down. People did wonder about Bann Esmerelle's disappearance, and while most assumed she'd been lost in battle or some other calamity on the night Amaranthine was attacked, there were those who wondered if there was something more, and there were a few whispers of foul play, but no outright accusations. Any remaining conspirators appeared to have fled; Rowan tasked Captain Garevel with making arrangements to have the threat eliminated by whatever means necessary.

For the most part, the people were relieved that the conflict was over, grateful that the Grey Wardens had defended the city and its people, even though the situation seemed hopeless, and donations started to pour in for the restoration of the order and Vigil's Keep, much to Mistress Woolsey's accounting delight. There were also a steady stream of men and women who wanted to enlist in the arling's now-depleted army. The Commander put Ogrhen and Garevel to work assessing them, as Garevel took up temporary duties as seneschal, while Rowan took up the rest of the slack for the recovering Varel.

Thus, the Commander had been occupied with what appeared to be endless journal keeping, letter writing, and documenting reports. She was spending little time with her few remaining Wardens, and her meetings with her other staff and her second-in-command were brief and businesslike. She started to take most of her meals in her room, and when she was seen around the Keep, she looked exhausted and generally miserable.

Oghren had concerns about the Commander, and said so. He sat in one of the recreation rooms of Vigil's Keep after dinner a few weeks after the final assault on the city and the Keep, a tankard in his hand as usual, talking with his fellow Grey Wardens.

“I'm telling you, something's not right. I can tell,” the redheaded dwarf insisted. “I didn't say anything before because I thought it would get better, but it's just getting worse.”

“She does seem very distant,” Sigrun agreed, a frown on her heavily tattooed face. “And sometimes she looks so very sad, and really tired. But given all the stuff that's been going on, it's not that surprising, is it?”

“She's not how she used to be,” Oghren grunted. “You didn't know her then. I travelled with her for months during the Blight, and I talked to her a lot. After everything we've been through, she's like family to me. Family! She used to be... bright. Alive. I don't know how to explain it. I mean, even in a Blight, with terrible odds and death and monsters everywhere and all that, she still used to make jokes and laugh and talk to her people. Used to sing, sometimes, and play cards and other games. I even saw her dance a couple of times in the camp. Now, though, she's all kinda closed off. Too quiet. Doesn't smile much, never laughs any more, and when she does, it's guarded. She's not herself and it's been too long.”

“So, what happened between then and now?” Sigrun asked.

“Ha. Everything,” Oghren growled, sloshing his tankard for emphasis. “There was all that slag with Alistair leaving. The little pike-twirler had a great, big, sodding tantrum at the Landsmeet and refused to do his duty as a Grey Warden if the Boss didn't execute Loghain. Surprised old Oghren, I can tell you that. Alistair was always on about duty and the Grey Wardens and ending the Blight and all, and then when the boss decided she should maybe listen to the much more experienced Senior Warden there who suggested conscripting Loghain instead of killing him on the spot, Alistair just totally lost it. Flat out refused to stay with the Grey Wardens if Loghain was allowed to take the Joining. I think the Boss was blindsided by that, I mean, we all were. She tried to talk to him, and you know how persuasive she can be, but he wouldn't hear any of it. She was trying to do what she thought was right, what would work. And they were, _you know_ , but she still couldn't make him see reason.”

“They were what?” Sigrun asked with a frown.

“You know, polishing the foot stones.”

“Excuse me?” Anders asked with a laugh.

“Tapping the midnight still,” Oghren said, stroking his beard in a curiously lewd manner.

Anders giggled louder.

“Yes, all right. We unders–” Nathaniel started, but Oghren kept going.

“Greasing up the bronto. Bucking the forbidden horse. Oiling the mine shaft. Rubbing the foreman's elbow. Heh. Get it?”

Nathaniel sighed. “We get it,” he said flatly, while Anders practically howled with laughter.

"They were lovers?” Sigrun asked, shifting a little uncomfortably.

“Aye,” Oghren grunted. “Sodding noisy ones, too. Heh. Couldn't keep their hands off each other, always giving each other these looks all the time and keeping the camp awake half the night just about every night. Everyone was pretty sodding shocked when he up and left her like that. He just kept saying he couldn't do it, couldn't stand with Loghain, that being a Grey Warden was an honour and not a punishment, all that.”

Nathaniel scoffed. Anders snorted.

“Yeah, well, anyway,” Oghren continued, “she wasn't the same after that.”

Oghren drained the last of the ale from his mug and looked at it mournfully.

“I thought it'd get better in time, you know, she'd get over it as you do, but all this slag with the darkspawn uprising and the Keep and that assassination plot against her and the business with the city of Amaranthine and a sodding darkspawn civil war and everything else just added to it. Then I was hoping when things were sorted and the pressure was off, she might start to, you know, recover or whatever you call it, but, no. It's gotten even worse since that last attack on the Keep. Starting to worry me, to be honest. She's as tough as they come, but she's bleeding inside, if you know what I mean. Take it from Oghren. Been there, and she talked me through most of it, too. Good heart, that one.”

“What did this Loghain do, anyway?” Sigrun asked. “I don't follow surface politics...”

“He instigated a civil war,” Nathaniel volunteered sourly, “while the nation was under threat of a Blight. He was the general at the bloodbath that was the battle of Ostagar, but he quit the field, leaving King Cailan to die there, as well as almost all of Ferelden's Grey Wardens, with the exception of Rowan and Alistair, who only escaped by some sort of miracle. Loghain got a blood mage to poison the Arl of Redcliffe, who would surely have opposed him, declared himself regent, sold citizens into slavery to support his war, and there's plenty more, including the way he protected and empowered my father to commit his atrocities. Executing Loghain would not have been inappropriate, but neither was conscripting him into the Grey Wardens, in my opinion.”

“Ugh, sounds like dwarven politics,” Sigrun muttered, staring into her mug. “So why did the Commander conscript him?”

“Strategy,” Oghren said in a surprisingly thoughtful voice. “She figured having another Grey Warden on hand would be a good thing, but the truth is, she also likes to try to give people a chance to redeem themselves. She's got a real knack for it, too. She sees things in people, recognises their potential. Or something. I dunno. Loghain travelled with us for a while and he did kinda redeem himself, I mean, more or less. Nobody liked him, really, but in the end he stepped up and died to kill the archdemon and the Commander survived. I don't know if him dying really does make up for it all, and it sure doesn't bring back all the people who suffered because of his crazy war and whatnot, but as far as I'm concerned, he did kinda make up for what he did to the Wardens, at least, by saving her, and he did end the Blight by killing the archdemon. So now he's a dead hero, and the Blight is over, and the Commander lives to rebuild the Wardens. Could be worse.” Oghren took a pull of his ale.

They were all quiet for a time, until Anders broke the silence. “The Commander and I are friends. Maybe I can help her, in some way. I can usually make her smile, at least. Should I talk to her, maybe?”

“Oh, I tried talking to her,” Oghren grumbled. “More than once, even. And plenty of other people who care about her did, too, but she wouldn't talk. I think she was afraid that if she opened up that sealed-off cavern, it'd turn into a landslide and she'd just be buried under all that slag, and she had work to do. She's like that. Keeps going no matter what. But I think it all finally caught up with her, and I'm worried what's gonna happen if she can't get out from under it.”

The dwarf paused and looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he belched loudly and chuckled before continuing.

“And for some reason, drinking doesn't seem to work for her. She tried that. She just gets even more miserable, throws up, passes out, and gets a hangover. No relief from what's bothering her. It's weird.”

“Oh, I know!” Anders said suddenly. “I give really nice healing massages. I mean, if you think it might help...”

“I'm her second-in-command. I'll talk to her,” Nathaniel announced curtly, getting to his feet in one smooth movement.

Anders raised an eyebrow and smirked slightly but said nothing.

Oghren, however, growled, “Yeah, okay, Lieutenant, go ahead and give it a try. We all know you like each other and all, so you might be able to do her some good. But she's in a bad way, all vulnerable and such, and if you hurt her, you will sodding answer to me, do you sodding understand me, Howe?”

Nathaniel frowned, but nodded. “Understood.”

When Nathaniel had gone, Anders turned his attention back to his drink. “Well, this should be interesting,” he commented with a wink and a grin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the fuse is lit... ;)


	15. Drinking Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel challenges Rowan, and Rowan takes him up on it.

Rowan was seated at the desk in her room, writing a personal letter. Her chestnut hair was unbound, falling in loose waves about her shoulders, and she was dressed in a casual loose tunic and breeches that she had tucked into soft, sheepskin boots. At her feet, her mabari lay on the floor, watching the open door. The dog made a noise at the same time there was as knock.

“Commander?”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” she answered, without turning around. She knew perfectly well who it was, not only because she recognised his voice, but also because only Nathaniel could approach her chamber so quietly that neither she nor Ser Barkley would hear him until he knocked. She set her quill aside and capped the ink well, and then turned to indicate the only other chair in the room, which was near hers at the desk. “What can I do for you?” she asked.

“May I shut the door?” he asked. “I'd like to discuss something... personal. I brought drinks.”

She arched an eyebrow, but nodded. He shut the door with his foot since his hands were full and then he made his way to her, bottles in hand. He sat down in the chair near her and handed her an open bottle of Rainesfere hard cider. His bottle was dark Amaranthine ale.

“May I speak frankly?” he asked.

“Ha. As if I could stop you. You have always been one to speak your mind, with or without my permission.” She paused, and a ghost of a smile played at the corners of her lips. “It's actually one of the things I like most about you,” she admitted. “In fact, I would hope you would always speak freely with me, and always give me an honest answer.”

“Easily done. You have my word,” he confirmed. He took a drink of his ale and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, the bottle in his hand. “Rowan, some of us are concerned for you. Oghren, especially. He thinks you're... what was the phrase he used? Oh, yes. He said you were bleeding inside. I think he's right.”

“Is that so?” she asked, taking a drink of cider.

It didn't actually surprise her that Oghren had not only noticed, but also spoken to others about his concerns for her. Oghren knew only too well about loss and betrayal and mourning and broken hearts. Rowan had talked him through his own pain after the death of his estranged wife, Branka. And Oghren may not fully know the pressure that came with command, but he had often told her he didn't envy her having to make the kinds of decisions she did, so he had at least some idea on that count.

Nathaniel looked at her with those hooded grey eyes of his. “You trust me, don't you?” Nathaniel asked.

“With my life, quite literally.”

“Then let me help. I know what it is to live with anguish. It's no way to live.”

He regarded her with an intense gaze that almost smouldered. She was used to him being all fierce and full of angst, so she wasn't that surprised, but there was more there. She had seen it before. The tiny spark he had lit inside of her weeks ago, which had very slowly but steadily grown since then, flared up little bit bigger, and she felt like she might actually be alive. This wasn't the sexual attraction she often felt toward him, but something else. Something deeper.

“Nate, thank you, but I don't know what you could do.”

“Do you want to spar?” he suggested. “It's been a while. I'll even let you win. You can beat me up. I'll just get Anders to heal me afterward.”

She chuckled, something he hadn't heard her do for some time.

“I don't think that would help,” she told him, “though I do enjoy sparring with you, as a matter of fact.” The memory of the last time they'd sparred came to her mind and heat rose to her face as she remembered how powerfully aroused she'd been when he had his arms around her. She hoped she wasn't blushing, but she decided to just ignore it and keep her face as still as possible while she drank her cider. They ended up sitting in silence for a little while.

Eventually, Nathaniel suggested, “All right, then. Let's play a game.”

She frowned. “What sort of game?”

“A variation on a drinking game. We'll take turns asking questions. The asker can ask whatever they like, and the answerer has to give an honest reply, but the asker also has to answer the same question they asked. So don't ask anything you don't want answered honestly. And don't ask anything you don't want to answer, yourself. All right?”

“This could be a dangerous game,” she commented. His face was calm, stoic, shadows from the fire in the hearth playing on his long nose and strong jaw, but there was a spark dancing in his eyes. Dangerous.

“That's the point.”

The prudent thing to do was probably to thank Nathaniel for his concern and ask him to leave, but she was so sodding tired of struggling to be wise, cautious, and circumspect. She was also profoundly, agonisingly weary of the burden of pain, anger, guilt, self-doubt, shame, sorrow, and every other thing she'd been carrying around since her parents' death, all made just that much worse when Alistair deserted her and the Grey Wardens, and then even more complicated by being caught in a war between darkspawn factions and an assassination plot against her and all the other the other stressful, trying, and sometimes pointless things she'd had to deal with since she took over as Warden-Commander. Nathaniel was, apparently, offering her some kind of way out. She decided to take him up on it.

“All right,” she agreed.

“Ladies first,” Nathaniel said. “You ask.”

“Hmmm,” she intoned, considering where to go with this. Maybe they should be completely frank and clear the air once and for all, and say out loud things they had not.

“Do you still resent me?”

He looked genuinely surprised. “No, not at all. You were right about me having a lot of... expectations. I had this idea I'd built up about what and who you were and what you'd done, and I hated that person that I'd imagined. But... that wasn't you. Now that I've spent so much time with you, I see who you really are and, as you've pointed out, how much we have in common. And now that I know what my father actually did... I can't say I blame you for killing him. I would have done exactly what you did, had I been in your place. In fact, if I had been in Ferelden when he started his treachery, I might have put an end to him, myself.”

She fell silent. That was quite the admission. He, too, seemed a little shocked that he'd said it out loud, or maybe that he'd said it to her, and he took a long pull of his ale. So they weren't going to pull any punches. That was the game. All right, then.

“To answer my own question, according to the rules, I never resented you, though for a time, I did find your attitude rather irritating and you tried my patience greatly,” Rowan admitted, and the corner of Nathaniel's mouth lifted in a half smirk. “In truth, I felt an immediate kinship with you when I met you in the dungeon. We have such a similar upbringing, and, like me, you'd lost your home, your family, the future you thought you'd have, only because of the actions of others and through no real fault of your own. You were so incredibly angry about all of it, and I could certainly understand that. I seriously considered conscripting you, actually, when I heard it had taken four Grey Wardens to capture you, but I couldn't do it. As I've told you, I had no choice in becoming a Grey Warden. I couldn't do that to you, not knowing what I know about the life of a Warden. Not after everything you'd lost.”

“I... don't know what to say.”

“You don't have to say anything.” She shrugged and lifted the bottle of cider to her lips to take a long pull and then said, “I admit, I was pleasantly surprised when you asked to join the order, even though I tried to talk you out of it. You're certainly an asset, and a fine second-in-command.”

“I still don't entirely understand why you were so unconcerned about my attempt to kill you,” he commented.

She snorted. “I've said it before. You didn't attempt to kill me. Unless you thought you could kill me with sarcasm? Or with kindness, perhaps. Neither of which have worked, I hasten to point out.”

“Point taken,” he conceded. “You know, you've never told me the story about the best friends who tried to kill you,” he said with a faint smile. “I've always wondered.”

“Haven't I? Really? Hmmm. All right, then. Loghain and your father hired Antivan assassins to hunt Alistair and me down and kill us, and, in a nutshell, I ended up having the one surviving assassin amongst my travelling companions. Zevran Arainai, his name is.”  
  
Nathaniel shook his head. “Only you could survive an attempt on your life by the Crows, and then befriend the assassin.”

She shrugged. “You were there when I survived an attack by the Crows right here in the Keep. They're nowhere near as fearsome as they want people to think. They seem to succeed as much as they do by way of surprise and stealth and numbers. They're no harder to kill than anyone else.”

“Go on with your story,” Nathaniel urged.

“With Zevran, it was mostly just good luck and good timing. I interrogated him because I wanted to know who had hired him, and he made a pitch to join me because he wanted to leave the Crows. I listened to everything he had to say, and it made sense, so I let him come along. And I've never told anyone this, but his accent reminded me of my Antivan sister-in-law, Oriana. I found it strangely comforting. It's a silly reason, but there it is. As it happens, Zevran proved to be quite useful, entirely loyal, and very entertaining. Alistair, of course, disapproved when I decided to give Zevran the benefit of the doubt. I guess I can't really blame him, there. Oghren and Anders had their doubts about you, too, if you recall, and it didn't help that your honesty compelled you to tell me I probably shouldn't trust you. At least they weren't jealous.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, Alistair was jealous of Zevran right from the start, probably because Zev called me a 'deadly sex goddess' at that first meeting,” she explained with a bit of a chuckle. “But also, Zevran is a rather handsome elf, very charming, and extremely flirtatious. He's also quite the libertine. He always said he takes his pleasure where he finds it. I did learn some things from him, but they were mostly tactical.”

“Mostly?”

“Well, if you want advice about something, go to an expert. Zev and I did discuss a few things that were... of a more personal nature. Some things I, uh, wanted to know about. But there was never... Alistair really had no reason to be jealous. But he was jealous of my relationships with a lot of people. Then again, after Alistair left me, Zev did kind of offer to... errr... step in, as it were. I was in no state of mind to take on a new love, though, and I didn't want to hurt him, so I didn't take him up on that. I know he cares for me, but... I just couldn't,” she said sadly.

Nathaniel took a pull of ale and looked thoughtful. “That is a good philosophy, though, I think.”

“What is?”

“To take your pleasure where you find it.”

“Yes, I suppose it is. And maybe your comfort.”

Rowan couldn't help but smile. Nathaniel smiled back.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I'm a tease. They're getting there, trust me. They just have some things to deal with first. ;)


	16. Punching Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel makes Rowan cry.
> 
> Lots of sorrow, regret, and heart-squishy emotional porn (though no actual smut just yet). Apologies for the tease at the end of the previous chapter, but this should be a bit more emotionally satisfying. ;)

“Hmm. I think it's my turn to ask a question,” Nathaniel said.

“Yes, go on.”

“Since we're doing this, and we started out punching hard, let's get right to the heart of it, shall we? And remember, we're friends, and you trust me.” He paused for a moment, his grey eyes intense, and then pushed forward. “Have you ever been in love?”

Rowan narrowed her eyes. Nathaniel met her gaze directly, challenging her, daring her to open up and talk about it, something she had steadfastly refused to do. She momentarily considered ordering him out, but then she considered the pain and grief she'd been holding back for so long. It really was poisoning her, far more than the darkspawn taint she carried in her blood. Nathaniel was right. It was no way to live.

She suddenly recalled Zathrian, the Dalish elf Keeper, and what he had said about the effect of a centuries-old curse that he, himself, had created. He admitted that the pain and hatred within him had consumed his soul. Rowan hadn't thought about that in a long time, but the wisdom of the Keeper's confession suddenly seemed keenly relevant.

“You know the answer,” she said finally. “You don't know the whole of it, and I don't know why I'm telling you this, but I will. It's time I talked about it. My first love was a knight who served my father as a squire from the time he was a boy. Roland Gilmore, but he was called Rory, and he was the son of a minor bann. He was not much older than I. We were best friends since childhood, got into all kinds of mischief, always Rowan and Rory making trouble or pulling pranks, but then as we got older, the relationship changed. He had beautiful red hair, and once he started to fill out, he had lovely big shoulders and the sculptured, firm, muscular body of a warrior, and, well, you can imagine. There were stolen kisses and clandestine meetings and all the romance of a first love.”

She smiled sadly, remembering those stolen moments, the passionate, explorative kisses, the eager, awkward caresses, ducking into darkened alcoves and little-used rooms to kiss and fondle each other and sometimes more, the surprise and pleasure and delight when they finally managed to find ways to be truly alone long enough to take their love to its most exciting and most intimate level.

“Eventually, we got careless and my parents found out and, of course, they insisted we break it off, mostly because of our age at the time. We complied because there was really no other choice, but we stayed on good terms, biding our time. I always held out some hope that I might eventually be able to persuade my parents to let us marry. He was no commoner, after all, and a knight, and they did always want me to have a love match, after all. He was an honourable choice, if not a grand or politically expedient one. He's the reason I turned down so many offers of marriage. I couldn't think about marrying anyone else, being with anyone else, even if he and I weren't really together in that way any more. Looking back now, I don't know what would have happened if Duncan had actually recruited him into the Grey Wardens, as he was thinking of doing. It might never have worked out between Rory and me, I can't know. But we did love each other right up until...”

Her voice broke and she had to pause to catch her breath and regain her composure. Unexpectedly, Nathaniel pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it into her hand. She hadn't even realised there were tears rolling down her face.

“He defended the gates, the night your father's troops attacked Highever Castle, that night when life as I knew it ended in blood and flames. I begged him to leave with us, but he wouldn't. He sacrificed himself because he believed it would allow my mother and me to escape the castle. I did, at least, get to kiss him goodbye, and I did it very passionately, right in front of my mother. She didn't even try to interfere, nor did she say anything. I think she understood.”

Rowan closed her eyes and choked back a sob, the first time she'd been able to cry in a very long time. The loss of her first love had been just one more grave injury that came of that terrible night. She had carried on, because if she stopped, she would never have started again, and also because of what her father had urged to remember, that Couslands always do their duty. Later, Duncan told her on the night of her Joining, _We must press forward; always, we must press forward._ It was an imperative she had taken to heart, and it had served her well. Or, at least, it had served the Grey Wardens well. In truth, Rowan wasn't so sure that it did her any favours.

Tears were flowing freely down her face now, uninhibited. Nathaniel moved out of his chair and knelt before her, taking her hands and holding them in his own. The mabari watched him closely, but didn't move or interfere.

“I am so sorry, Rowan,” he said sadly, quietly, still kneeling beside her, still holding her hands.

“And then, of course, there was Alistair, the royal bastard,” she sighed, her breath catching in a hiccup that nearly turned into a sob. “I was mourning the loss of my family, my home, my life... everything, while trying to stop a Blight and living like an outlaw. Technically, we _were_ outlaws. We had bounties on our heads, we were being hunted. Alistair was... sweet and funny and awkward and just so adorable. He was a bright spot in a very dark place, and he made me laugh, helped me to remember that it doesn't have to be all serious and dark and doom _all_ the time. He was the only thing that kept me going sometimes. Duty is all well and good, but it's cold comfort when you're struggling against terrible odds and the weight of the world is on your shoulders as you fumble along, making it up as you go, trying to do the right thing while you have no idea what's actually going on or how your decisions will play out. He was always talking about our future together... Said he could never imagine being without me. And then...”

A wave of very mixed emotion rose up inside of her. Anger, betrayal, pain, sorrow, regret, anguish, guilt, disgust, longing, and more. How could he leave her? Over what? A command decision she felt would help them end the Blight?

She took a breath. “Maker knows, I didn't intend to drive him away or to hurt him... But he should have understood my reasoning! I tried to explain, but he wouldn't he listen. His demand for revenge was so great that he forsook the Grey Wardens and me, despite all his promises, all his supposed devotion. He didn't have his way, so he decided he'd just sacrifice me and the whole of Ferelden and maybe most of Thedas.”

To her surprise, Nathaniel took one of her legs in his hands and pulled her boot off, and then removed the other one. Then he stood and gathered her up from her chair, picking her up so she was cradled like a child against his chest. She should argue with him, protest, tell him to put her down, but she felt so overwhelmed and awash in pain that she couldn't do anything but lean into him, tears still streaming down her face. With his usual easy grace, he carried her to the bed and gently put her down, while he quickly pulled his own boots off and then settled himself beside her, pulling her into his arms.

“Rowan, have a good cry,” he urged. “You need it. Let it all out. I've got your back.”

 

~*~

 

Holding the weeping, trembling, vulnerable Rowan Cousland in his arms was strangely, beautifully, deeply intimate, more so than anything Nathaniel could remember having experienced before. As he held her, he stroked her hair, and she sobbed on his shoulder with great, wracking wails that shook her whole body. It was heart-wrenching. It was the loss of her family, of the life she had once had, the loss of not one but two loves, the stress of having fought a Blight almost single-handedly, plus the burden of so much death and destruction and horror that was the life of a Grey Warden, all of the crises she'd had to deal with since coming to Amaranthine, and Maker knew what else.

It took a long time, but eventually the worst of her anguish was spent, her voice hoarse from the weeping that had consumed her. She wiped her nose with the handkerchief he'd given her, still sniffling and hiccuping as her breath caught.

“I must look awful,” she mumbled.

“You're always beautiful,” he said quietly. “You're strong, you're intelligent, you're resilient, you're amazingly skilled in battle, you've a clever wit, you're a brilliant leader, you try to do the right thing. You never let this Hero of Ferelden business go to your head. You're generous, too. And you're usually kind, when circumstances allow you to be. You truly live up to the word _noble_. I can't imagine anything more beautiful than that, even with bloodshot, watery, red eyes and snot running down your lip.”

She chuckled slightly and smiled as she wiped her nose with the handkerchief, which was, by now, rather moist. Eventually, she whispered, “Thank you.”

“Take it from me. You have to let the pain go, and especially, let Alistair go. The fool turned his back on his duty, and on you. Don't let him keep hurting you.”

They were quiet for a long time, just lying together. Nathaniel wanted more than anything to kiss the tears away, but he didn't think it was at all appropriate. She was fragile, unguarded, and he would not take advantage of that. He contented himself with the rather wonderful feeling of having her in his arms.

“I think it's your turn to ask a question,” he said quietly, once her breathing had more or less returned to normal. She looked up at him in surprise, and he smiled at her as he gently pushed a stray lock of hair out of her face. He was determined to distract her, to redirect her attention, a trick he'd frequently used with Delilah when she had been crying, and one which he knew often worked with Rowan, when she allowed herself to be distracted.

“I... ahh... yes, all right. If you like. Uhhmm.... Well. We're in bed... Has it been a long time since you were in bed with someone?”

He chuckled. “Yes. Longer than I care to think about, in fact. What about you?”

“Uhm... Since before I came to Amaranthine.”

Interesting answer. Truthful, but there was something she wasn't saying. It piqued his curiosity, but he didn't think it was the right time to ask and it probably wasn't any of his business, anyway.

“Hmm. I just realised,” she said, still sniffling, “you never answered your own question.”

“Which?”

“Have _you_ ever been in love?”

“Hmm...” He looked at the extraordinary, fierce, presently vulnerable woman in his arms, and his heart seemed to swell in his chest. And then it struck him like a bolt of the the lightning he'd once sarcastically accused her of being able to shoot out of her arse. He was in love with Rowan Cousland. Of course he was.

Nathaniel closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply. When he opened his eyes, he said, calmly, “Yes, I suppose so.”

She frowned but then sighed, closed her eyes, and curled up closer to him and gave another involuntarily shuddering sigh. “My head aches from all that crying, and I am just so very weary, in so many ways. It's... really good to be close to another person. To you. I really don't want to be alone, but I suddenly feel quite exhausted. I hope this isn't too... uh... forward, but... will you stay with me? At least until I fall asleep, I mean, if you... uhm...”

“I'll stay with you as long as you wish.”

“Only if you don't mind.”

Nathaniel very much did not mind, and so he stayed, and Rowan dozed off in his arms. It was the most satisfying feeling he'd had in a long time, perhaps ever. When he was sure she was sleeping, he carefully disentangled himself and took the leather ties out of his hair and loosened the small plaits he wore on the sides to keep his long hair out of his face. He banked the fire in the hearth, put out the oil lamp on her desk, and then gently pulled the covers out from under the sleeping Rowan, tugging a little at a time. He got into bed with her, and pulled up the covers over both of them. He had slept in his clothes plenty of times, and he was certain she had, so he didn't even consider undressing her, or himself.

When she turned over and snuggled up against him, her back to his chest, her lovely, firm, shapely bottom pressed against his groin, Nathaniel sighed and let his arm drape over her body as politely as he could, hoping she wasn't awake enough to notice the erection she'd given him. He was still partly aroused as he drifted off to sleep alongside her, inhaling the unique fragrance of her skin and the scent of rose water and musk, feeling more contented than he had for... well, ever.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really close tonight  
> And I feel like I'm moving inside her  
> Lying in the dark  
> An' I think that I'm beginning to know her  
> Let it go  
> I'll be there when you call
> 
> And whenever I fall at your feet  
> You let your tears rain down on me  
> Whenever I touch your slow turning pain
> 
> You're hiding from me now  
> There's something in the way that you're talking  
> Words don't sound right  
> But I hear them all moving inside you  
> Go, I'll be waiting when you call
> 
> And whenever I fall at your feet  
> You let your tears rain down on me  
> Whenever I touch your slow turning pain
> 
> The finger of blame has turned upon itself  
> And I'm more than willing to offer myself  
> Do you want my presence or need my help  
> Who knows where that might lead
> 
> I fall  
> Whenever I fall at your feet  
> You let your tears rain down on me  
> Whenever I fall  
> Whenever I fall
> 
> [Fall At Your Feet (Crowded House) on YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kW_5YdPL9Go)


	17. Breakfast in Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are eggs and toast, confessions of love, and (finally!) a kiss and the promise of more to come.
> 
> (Surpsingly, still rated PG-13. Apologies for being a tease. ;) )

Rowan woke early in the morning. To her pleasant surprise, Nathaniel was still with her. He was fully clothed, lying on his stomach in the big bed, covers only up to his waist, one arm stretched in her direction. His face was turned towards her and the window. He looked strangely beautiful in the pale, pearly, pink light. His dark hair, which had grown out a little past his shoulders now, was unbound and silken, and his face, despite the strong angles, dark beard growth, and the rather prominent nose, seemed endearingly soft. She was particularly drawn to the beautiful curves of his relaxed lips.

She started to get up, but, quick as lightning, his hand flashed out and grabbed her wrist. His eyes were still closed, but he smiled playfully.

“Nathaniel,” she whispered. “Let me go. Ser Barkley wants to go out, and I really need to use the privy.”

He released her, but still didn't open his eyes. She slipped out of the bed, opened the door, her dog bolting out the instant she did so, and she slipped down the chilly hallway to use the privy, thankful that guards were no longer being routinely posted outside her door. Nathaniel was pulling his boots on when she returned to the room.

“Where are you going?” she asked, trying not to sound disappointed.

“You and the mabari are not the only ones who needs to relieve their bladders, you know,” he said with a chuckle. “And I thought I might go get us some breakfast and bring it back here, where we can eat in private. You had a bit of a rough night. I thought you might not be ready to face... everyone.”

“That's thoughtful. Thank you.”

He smiled at her. Her heart skipped a beat.

“I'll be back in a little while with breakfast.”

Rowan took the opportunity to take off the clothes she'd slept in. She particularly wanted to remove the breast band, and she sighed with relief as she pulled it off. She got her favourite warm dressing gown from the wardrobe and wrapped herself in it and then put more wood on the embers in the fireplace. Then she slipped back under the covers and shut her eyes for a little while.

When Nathaniel returned, he was carrying a tray which he set down on Rowan's desk while she scooted up to sit in the bed, her back to the headboard. There were two plates, each loaded with scrambled eggs and thick slices of buttered toast, plus a pot of tea with two mugs and a small honey pot. He busied himself with pouring tea and handed a mug to her.

“Thank you, this is very nice,” she said, taking a sip. It was an elfroot blend, and she was a little surprised that he remembered she liked honey in her tea. She knew he drank his plain, so it wasn't as if he simply did it by habit.

He reached out to hand her a plate and cutlery, and she set her mug of tea on the night stand, taking the plate to tuck in immediately. He sat on one of the chairs by the desk to pull his boots off and then carried his own mug of tea and plate to the bed and sat down with his back to the headboard, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Together they ate, companionably enjoying their food with the appetite of Grey Wardens.

“How's your headache?” he asked after a time.

“Gone. I feel surprisingly well today, in fact. Better than I have... for a long time, anyway. I didn't have nightmares for a change and I actually slept well.”

“I'm glad to hear it.”

She ate a few more bites of her eggs and toast. Eventually she said, “Thank you. I mean, for... last night. It seems there was a lot I've had to hold back. There may be more, probably is more, but it's a start. I haven't been able to cry for a long time, though I've wanted to. It was kind of you to stay with me.”

“You're welcome. Though sleeping with you is certainly no hardship.”

Rowan's heart fluttered a little, but she said nothing as she finished her breakfast. She set the plate aside and took a drink of water from the skin she kept by the bedside, and then snuggled back into the bed, pulling the covers up to her neck, settling herself on her side, watching Nathaniel.

“Last night...”

“Hmm?”

“When I asked you if you'd ever been in love, you... hesitated. It was odd. I didn't know what to make of it at the time, and I didn't pursue it because I felt wretched and I had such a terrible headache I just wanted to sleep it all off. But my curiosity is piqued. Care to elaborate? It only seems fair after everything you managed to get me to confess.”

“Ah. Yes. All right.” He put his now-empty plate aside and finished his tea, setting the mug on the empty plate. He stretched out on the bed facing her, his head propped up on one elbow. “Are you sure you want to know? It will almost certainly change things between us.”

“Well... that's ominous,” she answered. Now she was wondering if he was going to tell her that he'd been in love with Velanna and now his heart was broken, or maybe that he and Anders had struck up a romance or... that he was going to marry some old flame he'd met again in Amaranthine, perhaps. “But, I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know. Go on and tell me.”

“As you like. When you asked if I'd ever been in love I was going to say no. But then when I thought about it, the realisation dawned that I am in love with you. It's been there for some time, but I didn't fully appreciate it for what it was until last night.”

Rowan was momentarily stunned, and that flame that had been flickering in the darkness of her heart was going a little wild. She knew he liked her, cared for her, knew he found her attractive, but she wasn't expecting a confession of love. She'd felt lost and broken for so long. Was she ready for this? Then again, did it matter?

“I... don't know what to say.” 

“You don't have to say anything,” he answered quietly, gently. “Just let me love you. You can't stop me, anyway. And while I will never force anything on you that you don't want, don't think I'm not going to make every effort to win your heart, now that we both know the situation, and before you argue, remember that I told you things would probably change, and you still wanted to know. And know this. I will never forsake you, nor take you for granted. Not over politics, not for decisions you make as commander or as arl, nor for any reason that I can think of. I may disagree with you, and I may even argue with you, but I will never forsake you. I have been foolish, but I am no fool.”

Rowan felt like there was a bonfire in her heart. She chewed her lower lip as she considered what he'd said. He smiled as he watched her, the look in his grey eyes comfortingly warm.

“This is... not what I expected,” she said finally.

“Ah, expectations,” Nathaniel countered. “They'll get you every time. But it's fine dramatic irony, don't you think? Or perhaps it's poetic justice.”

“Someone once told me that Fate has a twisted sense of humour.” In fact, it had been Loghain, whose conscription to the Grey Wardens had led to the loss of Alistair. Twisted, indeed.

“I really do have to ask you, though, what about you and Oghren?” Nathaniel asked, his voice and face completely deadpan. “Do you know he actually threatened me? Told me if I hurt you, I'd have to answer to him, with the clear implication being that he would pummel me to a raw, bloody pulp. What's going on there? Is there something I should know?”

“That mad dwarven stallion? As you might suspect, he and I have been, let's see, buttering the deep mushroom? Sure, that sounds about right. For ages, of course.”

“Of course. I just wanted to know whose toes I'd be stepping on,” Nathaniel said. “If it's just Oghren, I can manage that.”

“Oh, I don't know about that. You've seen him in battle, and Oghren can be quite difficult to handle when he's drunk. And he has actually come on to me, for your information. It was in camp, before the Blight ended. Asked me where he could find some sauce for the rump roast he'd been watching. Then he told me to go get myself ready and he'd be around to see to me, but he passed out immediately and I didn't get seen to.”

“I'm sure you were disappointed.”

“Indeed,” she said with a chuckle. “I ended up spending the night in my own tent...” _Making love with Alistair._ Her face fell at the sudden memory of muscular arms and sandy hair and amber eyes grown dark with passion.

“I'm beginning to recognise that expression. You're thinking about that fool again.”

“Yes.”

Nathaniel got under the covers with her and said, “Rowan, sweetheart, come here. Let me hold you.”

It was an offer she had no desire to decline. She nestled her body up to his and tucked her head between his jaw and shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her. Maker, they fit together so perfectly. Rowan couldn't remember if she'd ever felt this content just from the presence of another person.

But safe and comfortable were not her only emotions. The scent of his body and the feeling of being so near him was arousing far more base sentiments. She wasn't sure how long they lay together, neither speaking, the sexual tension growing in the silence just as the flame in her heart was turning into an unquenchable blaze.

She considered the situation. They were exceptionally well-matched, with a great deal in common. They worked well together. They were friends, too. They were able to share the experience of being Grey Wardens, which was a blessing. He was apparently in love with her, and she... wasn't prepared to think about the extent of her feelings for him, but she certainly wanted to be around him. And she wanted him. Oh, yes, she wanted him.

“We should be lovers,” she said eventually. “I mean... if you want that, too...”

She tipped her head back to look at him and found him regarding her with such an intense look it nearly took her breath away. He looked as if he was weighing options, or thinking of some retort, or sizing her up or...

He leaned in and kissed her. She moaned involuntarily as he pressed his lips to hers, and she opened her mouth to him the moment the tip of his tongue touched her lip, darting her own tongue out, rubbing it against his. He sucked gently at her lips, then teased with his teeth, while she responded in kind, sighing softly against his mouth. _Oh, yes_.

He pulled back for a moment and looked at her, his eyes dark with desire and, she supposed, love.

“Why did you stop?” she asked breathlessly.

“I just want to be sure this is really what you want.”

“Yes. Yes, I want this. It's probably reckless and inappropriate and all that, but... I want it.”

He smiled at her and pulled his shirt over his head with one hand, effortlessly removing it and tossing it aside.

She bared her teeth in a half-grin, half-growl and immediately buried her fingers in the plentiful, dark hair on his chest, finding it to be surprisingly soft. 

“Oh, Maker, I've wanted to do this for months,” she confessed with a groan, “ever since the first time I saw you shirtless in camp.”

“Mmm. Feel free to do whatever pleases you,” he said, his voice husky.

Rowan raised one eyebrow and grinned at him. “Oh, yes, I shall. And probably what pleases you, as well.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is entirely NSFW, and longer than I normally like to work with. I originally had part of that chapter in this one, but I decided to try to make it so that people who are not so into the smut can skip it and not lose much of the story.


	18. Does This Please You? (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel and Rowan engage in all manner of carnal delights.
> 
> This is a direct continuation of the previous chapter, and there's a slightly awkward POV switch, because the first part of this was originally part of that chapter. Now all the smut is here, though, and this chapter has next to no plot development, so if explicit love scenes are not your thing, you can skip it without missing anything (other than they finally have sex, explicitly).

Rowan pushed Nathaniel's shoulder while she rolled her body weight against him to get him on his back. With a bit of a moan, she rubbed her face in the hair on his chest, inhaling deeply as she did so, the combination of the scent of his skin in her nostrils and his body hair brushing against her face was intoxicating. She could feel her underpants growing wet, heat and arousal pooling in her lower belly and especially between her legs. Maker, but she wanted him.

In a moment or two, she had found one of his nipples with her mouth and Nathaniel gasped as she caught his nipple gently between her teeth and flicked her tongue over it. She got his other nipple between her fingers and pinched it gently, and was rewarded with a groan of pleasure, which triggered a ripple of pleasure and desire in her belly. She kept at it for a little while but then moved back to the middle of his chest and rubbed her face there again, once again enjoying his musky scent and the feeling of his body hair on her skin and lips, before she dragged her face down his stomach, scattering kisses and tiny bites as she went. Now the heat between her legs was starting to throb.

“Maker's mercy,” he managed to gasp.

She chuckled and threw the covers back and sat up on her haunches at his hip, her dressing gown gaping open. She followed his line of sight to her breasts, promptly removed the gown, tossed it aside, and arched her back provocatively.

“Better view now?” she asked with a smirk, and he nodded.

“Come over here, so I can get a closer look,” he said suggestively, reaching out to caress one of her breasts as he propped himself up on one elbow. She shuddered with pleasure when he rubbed his thumb over her nipple, making it stiffen instantly.

“Did you not specifically tell me to do whatever pleases me?” she asked.

“I promise it will please you if you come closer,” he murmured as he slid his hand to her waist to pull her near. “I'll make sure it does.”

A moan of desire slipped from her lips, but she was determined on her course. She had something quite specific in mind, something she'd thought about doing for longer than she was likely to ever admit, even to herself.

“I'll hold you to that promise, but not yet,” she told him. “Lie back.”

She was more than aware that he'd had that bulge in his breeches for quite a while. She reached out and ran two fingers down his flat, firm belly, tracing the dark trail of hair that disappeared into the top of his breeches. She hooked those fingers in his pants, intending to follow the trail to the treasure. Rowan reached out and caressed his cock through the fabric while she unlaced his breeches with her other hand. Nathaniel released his hold on her waist and lay back, his breathing visibly heavy, and he propped himself up on both elbows and watched her.

“I usually have excellent self-control,” Nathaniel told her with a groan, “but I think you are determined to make me lose it, aren't you?”

“Perhaps,” she said with a smirk and a shrug. “I've thought for some time that it would be interesting to see the stoic and brooding Nathaniel Howe lose his control and cry out with pleasure.”

She tugged at his breeches and he obligingly lifted his hips. She pulled his pants and his small clothes down in one go.

“Oohh,” she gasped appreciatively as his rather beautifully proportioned erection sprang forward, thick and very hard. “That's quite the weapon you have there, Lieutenant.” She yanked his pants down his legs and over his feet and dropped them on the floor, never taking her eyes off his cock. “When's the last time it had a good spit polish?”

Nathaniel raised both eyebrows as she knelt beside him, caressing his balls with one hand as she wrapped her other hand around the length of his cock and stroked, then rubbed her thumb over the head, making him groan with pleasure, which, in turn, stoked the flames of her own arousal even higher. She leaned forward and licked just the tip, and was rewarded with a twitching thrust of his hips and a strangled gasp, so she circled her tongue around the head several times before she lowered her mouth onto him, working her tongue against his tender flesh as she went, her hand still circling his cock to stroke the length of it.

“Maker's mercy,” he managed with a groan, his head lolling back. “That's... so good...”

She continued to stroke with her hand as she sucked on the head, pressing her tongue against him, making little licking, swirling motions while he lay back completely, panting and moaning, a forearm thrown over his eyes. His arousal fed her own, and she made her own sounds of pleasure while she sucked him, enjoying the feeling of him in her mouth and against her lips, the taste of his flesh, the salty tang of the seed he was starting to release, the distinctly masculine scent of his body, the sensual way he moved under her ministrations. She found a rhythm that seemed to please him and settled into it, varying only slightly with movements of her tongue against him.

“Oh, Maker,” he panted. “It's so... I can't... I'm...”

That was her cue, and she plunged her head down, taking most of his length into her mouth with a moan. That pushed him right over the edge. He gasped and then let loose with an unintelligible cry of pleasure as his climax overtook him, his cock twitching against her tongue and the roof of her mouth as he spent himself, warm and salty and slightly bitter. She sucked at him until he was finished and then she slowly and deliberately pulled her mouth back, releasing the pressure only at the last moment. As he recovered his senses, she reached for the water skin she kept near the bed and had a drink to rinse her mouth.

“Well,” he said when his breath had returned enough to speak. “That was... unexpected. And extremely enjoyable.”

“Oh, it was my pleasure. And now, I believe you made me a promise, something about pleasing me?” Rowan asked, setting aside the water skin. “I haven't got anything else pressing that I need to do this morning, do you? No, I thought not.”

 

~*~

 

Nathaniel watched Rowan, who was perched on the edge of the bed, looking at him over her shoulder. She was still wearing underpants, and he very much wanted to get them off of her and return the favour she'd just granted him, amongst many other things.

He moved over and onto his side and patted the space beside him. “Come here, then.”

She gracefully turned and lay back against the pillows, her chestnut hair spilling all around her, green eyes half closed, lips parted. Her nipples were partly erect and dusky rose against her creamy skin. She was so beautiful like that, it made his heart beat a little harder in his chest.

He pulled her close and kissed her, deeply and passionately, tasting the mouth she'd just used to give him such intense pleasure, rubbing his tongue against hers, inhaling her breath as she wove her fingers into his hair and responded to his kisses with delightful fervour and abandon. He put a hand on her breast and shuddered with pleasure at how perfectly it fit in his hand, enough to fill it, but not much bigger, a perfect handful. He rubbed his thumb over her nipple and it puckered and stiffened in response. He teased her, alternately rubbing and gently pinching her nipple, until she was arching her back and whimpering softly against his mouth. She had made him lose himself utterly. He intended to reciprocate, with interest.

He kissed the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, her jaw. She turned her head to give him better access, and made a noise that was a cross between a purr and a whimper when he kissed and very gently nipped along the tender column of her neck, and the hollow behind and below her ear.

“Does this please you?” he whispered in her ear and she groaned, making him smile before he nibbled on her earlobe. “What else might please you, I wonder?”

He pulled his mouth along her neck again, then across her collarbone, kissing and gently biting as he went. She was starting to squirm, and the whimpering, moaning, gasping pleasure noises she was making grew more impatient, more urgent, as she arched her back more, making her breasts jiggle.

“Oh, I think I understand,” he murmured, not letting her rush him as he dropped kisses across her upper chest and slowly along the top of one breast. “Is this what you want then?”

In one quick movement, Nathaniel caught a nipple in his mouth and pulled it between his lips, suckling as he rubbed his tongue across it. She made a strangled squealing sound and he shifted his body so that he could get her other nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling and tweaking it until she was making the most delightful pleasure noises he could recall hearing any woman make.

He shifted his position again so he could get his mouth on her other nipple, and caught the first one, wet from his mouth, in his fingers, teasing and pinching and making her squirm more and more urgently as she whimpered and moaned. In a moment, she was starting to plead, softly, sweetly, so delightfully, wanting more, needing more. Still working his mouth on her nipple, he let go of of the other and slid his hand down her belly and into the small clothes she still had on. He groaned at the feeling of her coarse, springy hair on his fingers and palm as he cupped her. He felt particularly pleased by how very wet she was.

She simultaneously opened her legs wider and thrust her pelvis against his hand. A thrill of red hot lust shot through him, mixed with mild amusement at how uninhibited she was. He brushed his fingertips just along the edges of her slit and she whimpered.

“Nate, please,” she managed to whisper urgently, “I'm so... I want...”

He knew what she wanted. With his forefinger and ring finger, he parted her folds and easily found the swollen bud of her arousal. He gently rubbed his middle finger in slow circles around that sweet pearl, and she cried out with pleasure so exuberantly he lifted his head to watch her face, how her lips parted and pressed together, how she licked her lips or bit her lower lip, the way she furrowed her brow, the way her mouth twitched into a semi-smile from time to time. He was transfixed, and moved his fingertip so it brushed the top of the tender nub, slowly building pressure as he stroked, all the while watching her and enjoying her sounds of pleasure. She was almost frantic now, murmuring the nonsense words of lust and arousal in between ragged sighs and deep moans, urging him on, whimpering for more, until her voice and her breath caught and she cried out, tossing her head and arching her back as she came undone under his touch.

“Hmm,” he said, “If that pleased you, I might know something else that will, maybe even more.”

He moved toward the foot of the bed and knelt between her knees, tugging her smalls down. She looked at him, her eyes half-closed, pupils wide and dark with her arousal, lips parted in anticipation, and lifted her hips so he could remove her underpants. He unceremoniously tossed them aside.

When Nathaniel slid two fingers inside of her with a twist of his hand, she bared her teeth with a grunt of approval, and he started to work his fingers in and out of her, curling them to rub her in what he could tell was exactly the right spot inside by the way she reacted. He adjusted his position so he could get his face closer, and pressed his nose into the thatch of dark curls between her thighs, inhaling the rich, musky scent of her, before he pressed a kiss to her lips, and then another, making her gasp and then whimper. Gently, he moved to dip his tongue between them, his fingers still working inside of her. He pressed his tongue against her flesh with long, firm, deliberate licks, enjoying every aspect of where he was and what he was doing and, especially, how she was responding.

The salty, slightly acidic taste of her on his tongue, the intoxicating fragrance of her arousal, the way she moved her hips to rub herself against his face, the way her cunt gripped his fingers, the incredibly arousing noises she made, it all combined to make his heart pound and his cock start to twitch. He sucked and licked at her flesh, stroking inside of her with his fingers, as she worked her fingers into his hair, moaning and sighing. When he flicked his tongue harder and faster over her pearl, she cried out his name and mentioned the Maker, and Nathaniel couldn't help but smile to himself, even as he continued his attentions until she came to a noisy, squirming climax, and then once more a little while after that, just as noisy, this time making her legs tremble hard as she came undone. Maker's mercy. He would never get enough of her.

He was pleased that his cock was fully erect once more, because he couldn't think of anything in the world he wanted more at that moment than to have it inside of her. He backed off a little, still kissing her very slick, fragrant flesh, but allowing her to catch her breath.

“Maker... Nate... please...” Rowan panted.

“Yes?” he asked, lifting his head, his fingers still inside of her, “What can I do for you?”

She groaned. “You know what I want.”

“Tell me what you need.”

“You,” she said softly. “I need you.”

It sounded achingly like a confession.

He pulled himself up the bed, kissing her belly and her chest as he went, and settled his hips between her thighs. He adjusted his position so that the head of his cock was pressed against the warm, moist opening where his fingers had just been, and then he held himself up with his arms as he watched her face. Thrusting his hips slowly, he slid into her and he groaned, overwhelmed by intense pleasure. She was so very wet, and incredibly warm, and she gripped his cock like a sheath that was custom made for its blade.

“Does this please you?” he asked with a groan as he started to move his hips.

“Yes, oh, Maker, yes...” she groaned. “More... please, more...”

She looked up at him with barely-open eyes and licked her lips as she wrapped her strong and limber legs around his waist. With half-closed eyes, he watched her face as he began a sensual rhythm. She closed her eyes, and it wasn't long before she was moaning with each thrust, matching his tempo with her own hips, turning her head slowly from side to side. He was glad he'd already spent himself once, because despite his usual self-control, he wouldn't have lasted long. The tight, liquid, heat of her was incredible, the way she moved, the noises she made, it was all utterly enrapturing and powerfully erotic.

It didn't take long before Nathaniel felt her start to grip his cock from deep inside, growing ever tighter, her hips grinding in rhythm with his, until she gasped, cried out, and squeezed his cock even harder, head turned to the side, struggling to catch her breath as a climax overtook her. Maker she was tight! And so very beautiful...

They made love like that for some time, until Nathaniel paused and told her to hold on and roll with him. Much to her amusement, he pulled her on top of him and yet managed to keep his cock inside of her the entire time.

“Oh, you want me to do the work now, do you?” she asked with a rather wicked grin as she made herself comfortable and sat up, back straight, before she started to rock her hips against him, her thighs flexing as she rode him. “Does this please you?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered breathlessly, “it definitely pleases me.” He put a hand on her hip and moved the other to the apex of her thighs, pressing his thumb to her pearl, making her throw back her head and moan her approval.

They spent the rest of the morning engaged in carnal delights, with breaks now and then to have a drink or just catch their breath. They explored each other in the ways new lovers did, starting to learn what the other wanted, what they liked, even what they didn't like. They made love on the bed in various ways, they did it standing up, they did it sitting on a chair, with Rowan straddling Nathaniel's lap, something she hadn't tried before. It pleased him greatly to introduce her to something new, and it made him want to find more new things to share with her, more ways to bring her pleasure.

At length, they were both entirely sated, and they collapsed on the bed in a tangle of sweaty limbs. Rowan sighed with contentment while Nathaniel just basked in the afterglow. They lay quietly together for some time, needing to say nothing. He couldn't remember having ever felt so incredibly comfortable with a lover.

“You're very... enthusiastic,” he commented after a time. “And very responsive.”

“Errr, yes,” she acknowledged with a bit of a chuckle. “But... Maker. You're... that was... Uhhmm...”

“Thank you,” he commented dryly. “I think that was a compliment, anyway.”

“Oh, it was. I've never... It was... like you lit a fire inside me or something.”

“Mmmm,” he agreed. “I know what you mean.” He was overwhelmed by his reaction to her, in fact. He'd been with a fair few partners, and none had ever ignited his passion like this.

After a while, she got up up to use the basin and pitcher. She dampened a cloth and rubbed it over her face, and then her neck and shoulders. She looked over her shoulder at Nathaniel before she tossed another damp cloth at him, landing it on his bare chest. He cleaned himself up and just watched her as she did the same.

Finally, she plopped the cloth onto the edge of the basin and announced, “Right. Let's talk about food, now.”

 


	19. Lunch Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which confessions and arrangements are made and lunch is had. 
> 
> Back to the more emotional stuff, and some bridging story. Plus, Anders! 
> 
> Nothing explicit, though there's some suggestive talk and nudity.

“I'm hungry,” Rowan announced. “I expect you are, too. I'm sure they're serving a meal about now, but I'm not looking forward to the comments and whispers and stares and jokes and what have you. People will have noticed by now that you spent the night and all of this morning behind closed doors with me, not to mention people having seen you carrying around breakfast for two this morning, and they'll be talking about it.”

“Voice of experience?” Nathaniel asked.

“Yes, although a camp is a lot smaller and offers far less privacy than a Keep.”

“I can go and get something and bring it back, if you like.”

“As much as I'm in the habit of taking my meals in my room, no, thank you. I can't hide behind closed doors indefinitely. We'll both go, and we'll go together. May as well get it over with so they can get used to seeing it.”

“So then,” he said, as casually as he could, “you wish to continue?” Nathaniel knew what he wanted, but he still wasn't sure what she had in mind.

Rowan laughed. “That's a strange way to put it. Were you expecting me to thank you for the amazing sex and the confession of true love and then tell you to go away?”

“It's a possibility,” he said nonchalantly. “It wouldn't be the first time I spent time in a woman's bed and then we parted company, though, admittedly, there have been no other declarations of love or pledges of devotion.”

Rowan was quiet for some time. She took the cloth he'd used to clean up as he held it out to her, and she put it on the basin with the other before she spoke.

“I've felt mostly dead inside for a long time,” she said in a voice just above a whisper. “Wounded, battered, and with the weight of the world on my shoulders. Oghren said it well, it was like I was bleeding inside, a constant drain of... life. After that battle with the broodmother, outside the camp that night, when I... It all just... hit me at once. It was like an avalanche, and I feared it was going to crush me. I'm grateful you were there to get me past that.” She took a deep breath and shook her head slightly.

Rowan sat down on the edge of the bed, close to him, but not touching, and not making eye contact. She ran her fingers through her hair and then said, “The life of a Grey Warden, as you well know, is not particularly joyful. It's too easy to get pulled into the darkness. Being with you reminds me to live while I'm still alive.”

Nathaniel rolled onto his side so he was facing her, and found her hand with his own. “I understand completely. But, then, you've had that effect on me almost from the moment we met in the dungeon, even if I couldn't admit it to myself for a long time. That was at least a part of why I was so antagonistic all the time. I wanted to hate you, but...”

She looked at him and smiled, her green eyes warm, her expression soft. Nathaniel was hopelessly in love with her already, but that look on her face made his heart practically beat out of his chest. Maker, she was dangerous. She held his heart and he wasn't sure if she knew just how much power she had over him, or if she did, what she might do with it. Nathaniel had never truly had a broken heart, but right now, he understood exactly how and why it was so devastating to have the one you love reject you.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked. “You look a little... disturbed.”

“I was thinking... two things, really. First, I was thinking how utterly besotted I am with you, and what a strange and wonderful and terrifying experience that is. I don't think I've ever been more vulnerable, because you've gotten past all my defences and I am unguarded.”

“Nathaniel, I –”

“And the other thing I was thinking,” he said, cutting her off before she could apologise or explain or argue or whatever she had in mind to do, “is that I finally understand at least some of what happened to you when that fool walked away from you the way he did. If you were half as much in love with him as I am with you, his leaving would have been like having your heart torn out of your chest.”

She was quiet for quite some time. “Nathaniel... I would like it if you... stayed. With me, I mean. Personally. Indefinitely. If... that's what you want, too.”

“I will, and I do.” He would stay with her forever, if he was able. He'd never been more sure of anything in his life.

She leaned over and kissed him, a gentle, sweet gesture of affection, then pulled back and gave him the softest, sweetest of smiles. He didn't think he'd ever seen her face like this, her expression unguarded, mouth relaxed, eyes warm. Maker's mercy but she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, especially when she looked at him like that.

“Come on,” she said, turning away from him. “Let's get some clothes on. I'm starving.”

“Hmm. I'll just to go to my room and get something clean to wear. You get dressed, but wait here for me. I'll escort you. We may as well make an entrance.”

Rowan smiled and stretched, arching her back as she did so, making her breasts jut out enticingly.

“Although if you keep doing that, you might not get to put your clothes back on,” he told her as he reached out to caress her bare thigh.

“Ha. Don't try to get between me and my food. You won't win.”

He grinned at her and got out of the bed as she stood up. He needed a shave, but he decided not to worry about it. He stepped into his breeches and adjusted the laces enough to make himself decent, and then scooped up his tunic and his small clothes and boots and opened the door. The moment he did, Ser Barkley shot through, dashing over to his mistress with a huge doggy grin and a whining complaint at having been shut out of the room all morning.

Nathaniel ducked into the privy briefly, and then sauntered down the hallway, shirtless and barefoot, his hair loose around his neck and shoulders, wearing a smile he couldn't wipe off his face. Anders happened around the corner and grinned when he saw Nathaniel's unshaven, uncombed, partly undressed state.

“It would seem things went well with the Commander,” the mage commented.

“You could say that,” Nathaniel responded dryly, and Anders laughed, his eyes raking over Nathaniel's bare chest with barely disguised interest.

“I'm not at all surprised, but I must admit, I am a little envious,” the mage confessed with a sigh.

“Of me or of her?”

“Both,” Anders admitted with a half-smile and a shrug. “Ah, well. It was only a matter of time, and everyone knew it. We should have set up a betting pool, now that I think of it.”

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow, but Anders tipped his head to the side playfully, winked, and continued on his way with a grin before Nathaniel could muster a suitable retort.

He entered his room and got himself dressed, and ran a comb through his hair before catching it in a simple ponytail. He considered the situation and Rowan's request, and then grabbed the empty satchel in the corner, which he stuffed with clean clothes. He tossed in the comb and some extra hair ties as well, put in his shaving kit, and then collected his bow, quiver, and daggers. Anything else, he'd get later.

“What have you got there?” Rowan asked when he returned. She eyed the satchel he had over his shoulder and the weapons he was carrying. “Are you moving in?”

“You did ask me to stay. Is this not what you had in mind?”

“I...” She hesitated, and he looked at her. She seemed slightly flustered, which he had observed only happened when she felt emotionally vulnerable. The thought gave him pause, so he waited patiently while she considered, chewing her bottom lip, a sure sign she was working through the situation in her head before making a decision.

“Well, I can't imagine I'm going to want to play at pretending we're not sleeping together by maintaining separate rooms. And this used to be your room, after all,” she said finally. “Seems fitting that you sleep here.”

“I'd sleep anywhere with you,” he said, putting down the satchel. He carefully placed his bow on the hooks on the wall that had been put there specifically for that purpose. It was the first time he'd put his bow there in a very long time, and it felt strangely comforting to do so now.

Rowan was dressed in a simple, chocolate brown dress with a deep, squared neckline and lacing up the front of the bodice. He noted it because he fully expected to be undressing her again later, but he also noticed how well the colour suited her. Her wavy chestnut hair had been brushed and was loose about her shoulders, as she often wore it when she wasn't going into a fight. Once again it struck Nathaniel that he couldn't remember having ever seen a more beautiful woman.

“Why are you staring?” she asked.

“Because I'm besotted with you. I thought I told you that.”

“Ah, yes. So you did. Shall we go and face the world, then?”

“Let's go,” he said, offering her his arm. She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and they made their way toward the dining hall together.

Rowan dropped her hand from his arm just before they walked into the dining hall, but Nathaniel didn't question her. Instead he followed, a couple of paces behind her, and watched as she walked into the large room, shoulders back, head high, a look on her face that dared anyone to make a smart comment to her, to the Commander of the Grey, to the Hero of Ferelden. She wore her authority like a cloak, and he couldn't help but smile as he stood nonchalantly by her side as they made their way along the sideboards and the various dishes set out in warming pans. Maker, but he loved this woman.

Nathaniel was amused by the variety of reactions from the assembled staff, soldiers, guards, and the two Wardens who were present when he and the Commander made their appearance. Practically everyone in the room was watching them, some more discreetly, sneaking looks now and then, some staring quite openly. There were murmurs and quiet comments he couldn't quite hear, but which he didn't need to hear to know what it was about. Gossip did, indeed, travel fast in a community as small as the one at Vigil's Keep.

They made their way to the corner table to where Anders and Sigrun were sitting, and took seats side by side. Rowan leaned over to Nathaniel and whispered in his ear, “Perhaps I should just stand up and announce that, yes, the Warden-Commander and her second-in-command finally gave in to their mutual lust, and can everyone please go about their business now and leave them to it?”

Nathaniel laughed out loud and then grinned at her, which actually caused several people to murmur or gasp. Captain Garevel even dropped his spoon.

“They've never seen you laugh before,” Rowan observed as she started on her meal.

“Hmm, you may be right,” Nathaniel agreed, glancing around the hall. “Perhaps I should scowl to put them more at ease.”

“Good idea. What should I do?”

“Look miserable, exhausted, and grimly determined.”

This time it was Rowan who laughed, and again, it drew stares and raised eyebrows. Even Anders and Sigrun were surprised.

“Don't worry,” she said. “Everyone will get used to it. After a while, nobody will care if we're lovers. Or if we're laughing.”

Sigrun was apparently speechless, but Anders observed their conversation with a look of fond amusement.

“You can consider this my expert opinion as a healer,” Anders told them. “I've never seen either one of you in better form. It's quite the transformation! Whatever is going on, it's good medicine, and I suggest you keep it up. Metaphorically speaking. Or literally speaking, if that's what it takes.”

Nathaniel smirked and Anders winked at him and giggled.

Rowan shook her head and said, “Just be glad Oghren's not here. I can only imagine... No, actually, I don't have to imagine. I've heard it all before. I don't suppose it will have changed much.”

“Something to look forward to, then,” Nathaniel commented, and Rowan chuckled.

They finished their meal and then headed out of the dining hall. As they stepped into the corridor, Rowan spied the housekeeper and trotted over to her.

“Mistress Katey,” Rowan said with a smile. “Lieutenant Howe will be vacating his room by tomorrow, and staying in my room with me. Make sure the staff know, please? Thank you.”

The housekeeper looked a little surprised, but nodded and said she'd see to it.

“And that,” Rowan said quietly to Nathaniel as they headed up the stairs, “is how you discreetly make sure everyone knows the situation without having to say anything to anyone directly. Within a week, it will be old gossip and people will have moved on to some other interesting topic of discussion.”

Once again, Nathaniel thought, _Maker, I love this woman_.

 


	20. Arrangements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some things are sorted and settled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strong flirtation and sexual references toward the end, but nothing explicit in this chapter.

“I want to finish this letter to Fergus,” Rowan said as she settled herself at the desk. “I was writing it last night when you turned up and plied me with alcohol and then made me cry before going to bed with me. Now I'm just wondering what I should tell him and how to say it.”

“Please don't say it the way you just did. He'll turn up with a company of soldiers and try to take my head off,” Nathaniel commented. “I suppose I'll go and get the rest of my things while you think of a diplomatic way to tell your brother about your personal life. There isn't much more, so it should be all right as far as space. But the Keep is currently being rebuilt, restored. I know you didn't want to sleep in the master suite and I understand why, but what if it were remodelled? You are the Commander of the Grey, after all, and for all intents and purposes, Arl of Amaranthine. It seems appropriate that you have a proper suite for your quarters. I should think you'd want new furniture, though. Particularly the bed.”

He couldn't stop the wave of disgust that washed over him at the thought of what his father might have gotten up to in that bed, let alone with whom. He was unhappily reminded of Bann Esmerelle and her declaration of how good his father had been to her, and Delilah had hinted at various kinds of debauchery, as well. Nathaniel was sure she didn't know the whole of it, and he was sure he didn't want to.

“Hmm,” she responded, her eyes still on the parchment in front of her. “I have thought I should have a proper office downstairs where I can hold meetings and such. Your father's study would be appropriate, but it's... not somewhere I would want to spend my time. It would need to be completely gutted and refurnished before I could be comfortable using it. I'll have to think about it. But now that you mention it, it does occur to me that you know this place far better than almost anyone here. Would you be willing to take on the role of supervising the Keep's reconstruction and remodelling? It would be one less thing on my plate.”

“I think I can help with that,” Nathaniel agreed, “but I'm not picking out curtains.”

She chuckled. “All right. I'll find someone else to pick the curtains. But you should help me choose the furniture for the master suite. We'll make a trip to Denerim together and do that, if it suits you. Perhaps your sister's husband can provide some contacts, fellow merchants with whom we can work out a good deal. I have working relationships with a number of merchants, but none of them deal in furniture, as far as I know.”

“Of course,” he acknowledged. Changing the subject, he commented, “I noticed Varel wasn't in the dining hall at lunch. Is he still taking his meals in his room?”

“Yes. I kept trying to coax him into joining the rest of the household. He said it was the pot calling the kettle black. He may still be recovering, but he keeps an eye on what's going on.”

“He cares about you. And you seem to regard him as you might a favourite uncle.”  
  
“It is a bit like that, isn't it?” she mused. “I should go visit with him when I finish this letter. I want to have a word with him about you, about the two of us, tell him myself instead of making him rely on gossip.”

“Hmm. I don't know that he'll approve. He never seemed to like me much.”

Rowan shrugged. “I don't think he dislikes you. He was wary of you at first, yes, but he had quite good reason to be, don't you think? He has certainly seen by now that you're an honourable man. Varel didn't baulk or object or even seem surprised when I told him I'd made you my second-in-command, and you've seen for yourself that he doesn't hesitate to oppose me when he feels he should. He was here under your father's rule, you know. Varel rose to quite a high rank in the household, too, until he started getting demoted because he kept openly objecting to your father's misuse of arling funds and his other... less than savoury schemes. Varel's defiance of your father's machinations and his sterling reputation is why the order put him in charge of the Keep, and why the decent soldiers and guards who deserted your father's rule returned to serve the Grey Wardens.”

“I... didn't know any of this. I admit, I haven't spoken to Varel much. If he was here before I left for the Free Marches, I never noticed him or paid him any attention.”

“You should talk to him. He might be able to help you make sense of some of the things that happened.”

“Perhaps. When I'm ready.”

“As you like,” she answered. “Right now, I want to finish this letter so it can go out with the evening courier, and you should go get your things.”

“After your chat with Varel, perhaps we might get some fresh air in the practice yard? It's been quite a while since we sparred, though, Maker knows, we already got plenty of exercise today. It would still be nice to get outdoors. We could practice archery, if you prefer that to hand-to-hand combat. But finish what you need to do and I'll go get my things. We can decide later what we want to do with the rest of the day.”

Eventually, they did make their way to the practice yard, having somehow managed to get undressed and into light leathers without falling into bed again, even if there was rather a lot of touching and caressing and squeezing as they changed their clothes. Ser Barkley had watched them with an expression that was a combination of idle curiosity, mild annoyance, and utter boredom. When they finally got outside, he trotted along behind Rowan and then took off to do his rounds and take care of his mabari business, whatever it might be.

Nathaniel and Rowan had been sparring for the better part of an hour, and it was their fourth match as they circled each other, each armed with a blunted steel practice dagger in each hand. Nathaniel swiped at her and she dodged, though it had been close.

She darted forward and struck at him gracefully with both hands in quick succession. He managed to avoid her and moved to kick her leg out from under her, but she spun out of the way, and he stumbled. She took immediate advantage of his temporary loss of balance and gave him a hard shove with her elbow, landing him face down in the dirt.

She laughed as he sat up, spitting bits of dirt out of his mouth.

“I think I win that one,” she pointed out with a grin.

“Yes, I think so. That makes us even, for now. Let's have a break. I could use something to rinse out my mouth.”

“I think you said something like that in bed this morning, didn't you?” she said with a grin and a wink as they moved toward the equipment shed where the skin of water was hanging.

“Oh, now that you mention it, I think you may have, as well,” he retorted before he took a mouthful of water, swished it in his mouth, and spat it out before taking a proper drink.

She stepped up next to him and surreptitiously slid her hand down to his arse to give him a squeeze and then a pat.

“You are a saucy minx,” he said.

“I hope that's not a complaint.”

“It's an expression of delight.”

“Care for another go?” she asked. He nodded and picked up the practice daggers and started toward the training area again, but she put her hand on his arm to stop him.

“That's not what I meant,” she said, licking her lips as she raised one eyebrow.

“Shameless,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “Which is better than shameful, certainly.”

“You know, a friend once told me that Grey Wardens have a reputation for sexual appetite and endurance.”

“Do they, now?”

“Apparently so.”

“And who was this friend? Someone who wanted to find out if it was true?”

“Hardly. It was Morrigan, the apostate witch who travelled with me during the Blight.”

“You had some... interesting companions. But tell me, why did Morrigan the apostate witch tell you this?”

“Oh, a conversation about... uh... you know. Just girl talk.” Her face fell into an expression he was definitely able to recognise.

“You don't need to explain the circumstances of that conversation,” he replied curtly, “but I'd be willing to wager it had to do with you taking up with that fool and keeping the camp awake half the night.”

“Funny, Morrigan always said he was a fool, too. She pegged it from day one. I should have listened to her. And how would you know we kept the camp awake half the night, not that I'm saying we did?”

“Oghren.”

“Oh, of course, Oghren, the master of the inappropriate. Silly of me to even ask. You do know he exaggerates? I hate to think what else he's told you. Fortunately, the Keep has thick, stone walls and nice, sturdy doors, unlike a tent.”

“I look forward to the next time we have occasion to set up camp,” Nathaniel said, his grey eyes smouldering as he stepped closer to her. “Noisy tent sex sounds like fun.”

“Fun for us, maybe. Not so much for those who have to listen, or so I'm told.”

“Maybe we should go out alone, then. Just the two of us. I know some nice, secluded spots in the area.”

Rowan tipped her face up to him and he was just about to kiss her when they were interrupted by a cheerfully gruff voice.

“Hey, Boss,” Oghren called out as he ambled into the training yard, fully armoured. “You look mighty fine today. Feeling better, then? Good to see.”

Sigrun was with him, also armoured. She looked slightly startled at what she'd just witnessed, but she had a huge grin on her heavily tattooed face.

Nathaniel politely but unhurriedly stepped back from Rowan, putting a little distance between them, but not too much.

“I'm told you were worried about me, Oghren,” Rowan said simply.

“Well, you know how it is. You get to where you kinda know people and can tell when they're not themselves. You seem pretty perky today, though, heh. Got a blush in your cheeks and you're all glowing and everything. Haven't seen that in a long time. Nothing like opening a new tunnel to put the flow back in the lava, eh?”

Rowan cleared her throat, but a smile played at the corners of her mouth.

“Thanks, Oghren. You're a good friend.”

“'S'all right,” he responded, looking pleased but mildly uncomfortable. “By the way, those potential recruits I took out in the field this morning are fine for soldiers or guards but only one struck me as a Grey Warden. The templar, you know the one? You'll see for yourself soon enough, I expect. Well, Sigrun and I are gonna do some sparring. Interesting to spar with someone my own height for a change, and a rogue, to boot. Good challenge. See you later. Probably hear you later, too,” he added with one of his lewdly suggestive chuckles. “You always were a screamer.”

Sigrun rolled her eyes at Ogrhen's back and then shrugged good-naturedly at Rowan, who just shook her head and sighed.

Nathaniel leaned over and whispered in Rowan's ear, “Let's put this gear away and go have a bath.”

“Ohh, now there's an idea.”

“And I can just about guarantee it will be like nothing you've seen or done before.”

As they crossed the courtyard, which was bustling with soldiers, builders, merchants, and various other folk who had come to the Keep to do business, Nathaniel reached out and took her hand. He felt her hesitate, and was prepared for her to pull her hand back, but then she gave his hand a squeeze.

Aside from the fact that he liked holding her hand, he was quite intentionally sending an unambiguous and unapologetic message to the Keep. They were together, she was his, he was hers, and he'd have something to say about it if anyone tried to interfere.

He looked over at Rowan and winked. She responded with a smile and blushed like a teenage girl. It was one of those rare moments when her guard was down and he was able to really see her. He had only had glimpses of that, moments when she put aside all the duty and command and responsibility and pretence and was only herself. The moments never lasted long enough; the woman behind all that defensive posturing was astoundingly beautiful.

Nathaniel suddenly desperately wanted to see more of her, unguarded, vulnerable, open to him in every way, of her own will.

Of course, because Rowan Cousland was a stubborn woman, getting her to do such a thing, to allow it to happen, might take years. Fortunately, Nathaniel Howe was a patient man.

 


	21. Good Clean Fun (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan and Nathaniel share a bath. 
> 
> This gets NSFW toward the very end, but the rest of the chapter does have some plot development and is just flirtation (occasionally quite strong) and nudity (obviously, as they actually are sharing a bath). If you want to skip the smut, stop reading about the time they finish washing each others' hair. (I try to keep the full-on smut to its own chapter if at all possible, but in this case, this is the best I could manage.)

When they arrived in their now-shared room, Nathaniel shut the door and then, without even saying anything, he started unbuckling the straps on her leather armour, tossing the pieces on the bed to be put on the armour stand later. She used him for balance as he unlaced first one boot and then the other and tossed them aside, as well. When she was down to her small clothes, he leaned in and and kissed her on the mouth, but then turned his attention to undressing himself.

“Oh, let me do that,” she smiled. “Fair's fair.”

When she had his leather jerkin off of him, she slid both of her hands up under his thin, sweat-dampened undershirt and ran her fingers through the hair on his chest with an appreciative sigh. Playfully, she tweaked his nipples and he grunted, then she leaned forward and dropped a kiss on his belly as she knelt to unlace his boots and tug them off his feet. She rubbed her hands up his lean, beautifully muscled thighs to his belt and started unbuckling, coming to her feet as she started on the buckles of his leather armour, then unlacing his breeches so she could slip her hand in to caress him.

“Maker's mercy, woman,” he groaned. “I do love that you can't keep your hands off of me, but can you just wait a little while? I promise, it will be worth it. Trust me, and you'll see for yourself.”

“What will I see?”

“Why I'm not letting you ravish me right here and now,” he answered with a smirk. “Put on something simple and some shoes that you can slip into and out of easily. I'll just try to get this into a pair of breeches,” he said, pointing to his erection, which made her giggle at him. “Maybe I should take up wearing robes. Anders claims it's much easier to have sex in a robe, which I don't doubt. And a robe would be much better for hiding a stiff cock, I imagine.”

“I could hide your stiff cock,” she said suggestively.

“Minx. We'll discuss your kind offer in a little while. Now are you going to put some clothes on, or do I have to dress you, myself?”

“That would be an interesting change,” she commented, but went to the chair and picked up the chocolate brown dress she'd been wearing earlier, and which she'd tossed over the chair. She pulled it over her head and tightened the laces on the front of the bodice, and stepped into a pair of flat, leather slippers while Nathaniel tossed a comb and clean underclothes for both of them into his empty satchel.

They stepped into the corridor, where he went to the linen closet and filled his satchel with some towels and a cake of the excellent Antivan soap which Rowan always requisitioned for the Keep. It was an extravagance, but the small luxury was a surprisingly effective reward and morale booster for Wardens and soldiers returning from patrol or battle.

Nathaniel took Rowan's hand and kissed it, then led her to the kitchens to refill his water skin from the well pump, and he also grabbed a generous handful of cookies that were cooling on a bench top. The kitchen staff had learned well of Grey Warden appetites, and kept a variety of cakes, breads, cookies, dried meats, and other easy-to-eat foods on hand, especially as the soldiers and guards appreciated it, as well.

Finally, he grabbed a candle from a shelf and lit it from the coals in the corner of the gigantic fireplace, and off they went through the Keep to one of the many entrances that led down into the maze of cellars, basements, and dungeons below.

“It's a little dark, isn't it?” he commented, as he moved down the narrow corridor with the candle in hand until he found a wall torch. He took it down and lit it from the candle, and then extinguished the candle while he handed the torch to Rowan.

Even Nathaniel didn't know much about the subterranean parts of the Keep, though he was, of course, the most knowledgeable of anyone on hand. There were concealed entrances and dark, twisting passages all over the place, and doors locked with mechanisms so complex they couldn't be picked. The Keep was many centuries old, and it showed.

“We really need to explore and thoroughly map these basements,” Rowan commented as they walked. “Maker knows what's down here. Would you be willing to supervise something like that?”

“Along with managing the rebuilding, you mean?” he said.

“Yes. Is it too much?”

“While keeping you satisfied, too? I don't think I'll have the time,” he said dryly. “You're apparently insatiable.”

She sighed with mock exasperation. He chuckled. “Yes, I can do that,” he said, “though I may not personally attend every expedition into the far reaches of the apparently endless cellars. I can organise it and see that it gets done and review the reports so forth.”

“Thank you.”

“I know it's along this wall somewhere,” Nathaniel was saying as he searched the wall along a narrow corridor while she held a torch. “Ah, here it is. It's been years since I was down here.”

“What is that, a secret door?” she asked.

“It's a lock mechanism, probably dwarven engineering. Some ancestor of mine had this put in. I'm not sure why they didn't just use a standard lock with a key, but...” He paused while he concentrated on working the mechanism and after a few minutes of manipulating it, she heard a low, rumbling, grinding noise.

“That needs to be serviced,” he commented. “Oiled or... something. For the time being, maybe it's best to leave the room unlocked.”

They proceeded down the corridor for twenty yards or so, where the corridor ended, and he pushed open a heavy door that was cleverly set into the wall to his left, partially concealed. He smiled and waited for her to enter.

“What is this?” she asked, her voice full of wonder. The chamber was quite warm and the air was humid. It appeared to be a small cave, with slatted wooden benches along the partly hewn walls and a rock-edged pool in one corner. Steam rose from the water invitingly.

“It's a natural hot spring cavern that was made into a bath room,” he explained, taking the torch from her and lighting a couple more that stood in wall braces. There were an abundance of half-burned candles around, as well, but he didn't bother with them as he put the torch they'd brought into an empty sconce on the wall. “Just be careful, there are some very deep places in the pool where the water flows through the rocks and replenishes itself. If you get in from this side, it's fine, just mind where you put your feet.”

He put down the satchel and they undressed each other easily, quickly, as if they'd been doing it for years, sharing quick kisses and caresses as they went. He also reached up to remove the leather cord that held her hair back, and then pulled his own hair free of its restraint.

“Maker's breath, this is amazing,” Rowan gasped as she stepped into the steaming water. She felt around carefully with her foot and discovered that within the pool were some carved rock ledges, deep enough that she could sit on them with the water up to her shoulders.

Nathaniel grabbed the cookies he'd taken from the kitchen and the skin of water and joined her in the pool, carefully holding the treats above his head so as not to ruin them. He handed half the cookies to Rowan and put the water skin on the outside ledge where either of them could reach it easily, and they settled down to enjoy their snack and the steaming bath.

“I can guess why this place was kept locked,” she said after a while. “Everyone in the household would be in it all the time. What a distraction! You wouldn't want people sneaking down here at all hours of the day and night to have a soak. Especially if, as you say, it could be dangerous.”

“Mmm, you're probably right. That mechanism is designed to keep people out from the outside and you have to know where it is and how to work it. A key can be borrowed or stolen or copied, and locks, as we both know, can be picked. There is the bolt on the inside of the door that you can use if you want privacy when you're already here, but you have to get in first to use it. Maybe we should keep this our secret, at least until the locking mechanism can be repaired. This could be somewhere we can go and be left alone because nobody will know where to look.”

She laughed. “There's a thought.”

Nathaniel turned and reached out of the pool to the satchel, his lean, muscular arse coming up out of the water as he did so. Rowan watched with appreciation. When he settled himself back in the pool, he had the cake of Antivan soap. Rowan loved the stuff, because it was made with some kind of vegetable oil instead of tallow, and it was silky smooth and rinsed off beautifully. It also had a light, pleasant scent, some soft fragrance she couldn't describe, but which she associated with being clean.

“Wet your hair,” he said as he worked up a lather in his hand. “I'll wash it for you.”

Rowan grinned at him and then ducked down below the water, pushing her thick, wavy hair under to make sure it was thoroughly wet. She came up out of the water and drew a breath and then sat on the bench beside him, turning sideways away from him, her head back as the ends of her hair floated on the surface of the water.

He worked his fingertips gently through her hair, massaging her scalp. Oh, Maker's breath, the way his clever fingers worked on her was sublime. He was such a sensual man. The way he ate, the way he fought, the way he made love, everything he did was about the senses. She sighed with pleasure, and heard him chuckle.

When he'd worked the silky lather through her hair to his satisfaction, Nathaniel gently pulled her back into the water so she was half floating, her hair all around her, just her face out of the water. Carefully, he worked the lather out of her hair, and then told her to give it a final rinse, herself. She ducked below the surface and knelt on the bottom of the pool, completely submerged for a few seconds while she swished her head back and forth. When she emerged from the steaming water, Nathaniel was watching her with a half smile on his face.

“Shall I do you?” she asked with a quirk of her eyebrow, reaching for the soap.

“You can do me any time,” he responded, and kissed her once on the lips before he handed her the soap. He tipped his head back to wet his shoulder-length hair, and then straightened, pulling her into his arms so she was facing him as he dropped kisses on her face and jaw, playfully trying to distract her. She managed to get some lather in her hands and put the soap aside and reached her arms up to wash his hair, making her breasts rise up, peeking out of the water. He kept his arms around her, kissing her face and any other part of her he could reach with his mouth, his hands caressing her body. She responded by pressing her breasts more firmly into his chest as she worked the lather through his hair.

“Rinse,” she told him when she'd managed to finish her task, despite their mutual diversionary tactics. He kissed her one more time on her mouth and then took a breath and went into the water, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. When he surfaced, he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her back into his arms, settling her on his lap with her legs tucked up on either side of his thighs, most of her weight was supported by the water.

“Have you ever had a woman in this pool?” she asked.

He considered the question before answering, “No one as glorious as you.”

“Flatterer.” She leaned forward and rubbed her nose against his affectionately.

“Absolutely not. I promised to answer your questions honestly, didn't I? You asked, and when I thought about it, it was like comparing a banquet to a dry slice of bread. Every woman pales in comparison to you.”

“You really are besotted,” she chuckled. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed against him, her breasts squashed to his chest as she nibbled his earlobe, then kissed down his jaw and long neck. She started to grind against him under the water, rubbing herself against his growing erection, pleasuring herself as much as she was him.

“Maker's mercy,” Nathaniel groaned. “Here. Let me show you...” He gently pushed her back so he could adjust his position on the underwater ledge, his upper back was to the side of the pool and his knees spread. He slouched slightly and tilted his pelvis so that his already hardened cock was standing at attention, almost perfectly upright, and then put his hands on her hips and guided her to sit on his lap, facing away from him. There was a bit of fumbling as he got his cock where he wanted it, but then he pulled her down on it, and she moaned softly as he filled her up completely. She wanted to move, to ride him, but he held her still, one hand on her hip, the other flat on her lower belly.

“Now, listen,” he said, his voice husky, “don't move too quickly or make any sudden movements. Just rock gently. Slowly. Let the water support you. Oh, yes... just like that... Don't get too exuberant with it. Let it build very slowly.”

He let the hand he had on her belly slide down to cup the flesh between her legs, his fingers gently sliding through her curls as he pressed his whole hand against her, squeezing gently. She moaned again, a little louder, and he carefully pressed his middle finger along the length of her slit, only just barely parting her lips. She gasped when his finger grazed her sensitive pearl, which was swollen and throbbing with arousal. He squeezed her again, pressing against her and releasing, pressing and releasing. The entire act was languorous, sensual, a wicked, slow burn. She let her head roll back, her breathing fast and peppered with occasional quiet moans. Slowly, so deliciously slowly, their mutual pleasure mounted. She moved a little quicker, but not much, so he increased the pace and pressure of his hand. He whispered in her ear, telling her how much pleasure she gave him, how tight she was around his cock, and how much he loved pleasuring her.

“Yessss, that's it,” he murmured, his voice low, almost a growl, “oh, yes... come for me, Rowan. I love to make you come.” She arched her back, pressing down on his cock, rocking her pelvis, while his fingers still pressed against her. A deep, low, growl of pure bliss fell from her lips and she started to tremble slightly as ecstasy overtook her, rising as if from the very core of her being. He, in turn, groaned her name, panting as he came with her, his cock jerking rhythmically inside of her as he did.

As he slowly came down from his climax, he let his hand fall away from her groin and just rested it on her thigh, his other arm around her waist, holding her as their breathing slowly returned to normal. She lay back against him and let her head rest on his shoulder.

“Being with you is... It feels like we've always been lovers,” he murmured. “I never would have imagined experiencing this kind of... connection... with anyone.”

“I know,” she agreed breathlessly. She felt it, too. There was a profound intimacy between them that defied common sense. It was both frightening and thrilling at the same time.

Rowan relaxed completely against him, her arms floating in the water. Nathaniel kissed her on the temple, and they were quiet, falling into a comfortable silence, just enjoying the warmth of the water and the exquisite closeness between them, listening to the sound of one another's breathing and the quiet gurgling of the water as it moved in and out of the rock pool.

“You didn't scream,” he murmured in her ear. “So you can come quietly, after all?”

“I told you Oghren exaggerates, didn't I?”

 


	22. Transitions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which events settle down and move forward, with some flirtations and admissions along the way.

When, eventually, they pulled themselves out of the hot spring pool, Nathaniel retrieved the comb from the satchel and motioned for her to turn around. Expertly, he worked the comb through her damp hair, and then grabbed a towel and took his time drying her hair and body, sensually, the way he did everything, enjoying every part of her.

“Do you want me to put your hair in a plait for you?” he asked, standing behind her with his arms around her, towel still in his hands.

“It's too thick. It will take hours and hours to dry if it's bound or plaited while it's wet,” she explained. “But I might like to have you do it when it's dry, since you have such clever fingers and all.”

He kissed her on the shoulder and then handed her another towel and moved in front of her, holding his arms up and looking at her expectantly. Rowan found she thoroughly enjoyed drying him. It was a fine exercise in appreciating his beautifully muscled arms, which were strong and shapely, but not overly bulky, the natural breadth of his shoulders, the abundance of dark hair on his torso, the way his chest and back tapered in so very attractively to his trim waist and hips, the curve of his lower back, and, oh, that lovely, firm arse. But his legs were her favourite. Long, shapely, muscled in the way of a scout, a runner, rather than the meaty, thick legs a warrior tended to have. And, of course, there was what lay between those legs...

“You need to pay attention to the task at hand if you want to get dinner any time soon,” Nathaniel told her, his voice low.

“You were right about me,” she admitted. “I can't keep my hands off you. Nor my eyes.”

He smiled and handed her the comb, and she started on his hair, but she wasn't as skilled at combing hair as he was. At least, not someone else's hair, and not when the person in question was taller than she was. He winced a couple of times, but didn't complain, and, like her, he left his hair loose, hanging down his neck and brushing past the tops of his broad shoulders.

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her thoroughly, before he turned to get the clean knickers out of the satchel, which he held out for her to step into. Then he held up the binding cloth for her breasts, and she obliged him by holding out her hands so he could slip it over her head. With nimble fingers, he tugged the fabric into place and made a show of adjusting her breasts with caresses and squeezes, but he did eventually pull the laces in the front until it was snug. Next, he took up her dress and gathered it with his hands so he could slip it over her head.

“I can actually dress myself, you know,” she said as she put her arm through a sleeve.

“Undoubtedly,” he answered, and kissed her on the mouth. “But you said it would be an interesting change if I were to dress you, didn't you? And you certainly wouldn't let anyone else do this, yet here I am, putting your undergarments on you and lacing up your dress. It's very intimate, don't you think?” He pulled the laces tight on the bodice of her dress and tied the ends in a neat bow, and then put one hand on each of her breasts and caressed her firmly through the fabric.

“It is at that,” she breathed, “and you can also be rather... dominant.”

“That's certainly true,” Nathaniel admitted. “As can you.”

“Yes, but I'm in command. I have to be dominant. You know, I've always thought it was a wonder that you've been responsive to my command, especially given the way we started out.”

“Ah, that's different. Disobeying a commander can lead to disaster, especially if they give good commands, which you do. But if you recall, at the beginning, even though I obeyed your orders, I always made sure you knew it was because I was the better person. I was so... conflicted. I was sarcastic and I was downright rude at times. Honestly, I'm surprised you tolerated it. I certainly wouldn't put up with that from a subordinate,” Nathaniel confessed with a sigh. “It shames me now. I'm sorry.”

Rowan wrapped an arm around his waist, and the other around his neck, pulling his head closer so she could kiss him. She sucked at his lips, her tongue seeking his, and he responded, his mouth slanting over hers as he pulled her closer to his body.

“You're forgiven,” she smiled, pulling away from him only far enough that she could speak. “I let it slide, partly because I didn't have the energy or the time constantly fight you on it, and partly because I was hoping to eventually win your trust, if not your friendship. Loyalty and respect, after all, must be earned. I must say, my cunning plan does seem to have worked exceedingly well with you.”

“So it has.”

He let go of her so he could reach for his underclothes in the satchel, turning back to look at her with mock exasperation as he showed her how stiff his cock had grown. “You see what you do to me? How am I supposed to get dressed?”

She laughed at him. “Oh, my poor Nathaniel, always walking around with a lance in his breeches.”

He shook his head as he stepped into his smalls and reached for his pants. “It's you,” he said as a mock accusation. “You make me feel like a horny teenage boy. It's absurd.” He pulled up his breeches and wrangled his erection into some sort of appropriate position.

“Here, let me help with that,” she smiled, and reached out toward his groin.

“Oh, no, you don't. I'll have to have you up against a wall and aside from that being quite uncomfortable and a little strenuous, I really want to get to dinner. Aren't you hungry?”

She nodded and started to tie the laces on his breeches, but she couldn't seem to resist giving him a caress through them once the laces were fixed.

“I think you have it as bad for me as I do for you,” he told her.

“That is a possibility,” she conceded, smirking back at him as she watched him pull his tunic over his head. He sat down on one of the benches to pull his soft, wool-lined boots on while she stepped into the leather slippers she'd worn. She watched him stuff the towels and their worn underclothes into the satchel and then retrieve the water skin, but he left the soap, a promise of things to come.

“One day, I'm going to make you admit you love me, you know.”

“Maybe you won't have to make me.”

Rowan couldn't believe how flirty and romantic he made her feel. He made her feel like a girl with her first serious crush, and it was a welcome change from the grim, determined, driven Grey Warden she had become. It was a long time since she had been just Rowan Cousland with a crush on Nathaniel Howe. Maker's breath. It was glorious.

He took down the torches he'd lit and doused them in the water before putting them back in their sconces, and then grabbed the torch they'd brought with them and handed it to her.

“Come on, sweetheart, let's go see about satisfying other appetites,” he said, kissing her lightly as he slid the bolt back and they made their way out of the room and down the corridor. “Tomorrow, I suppose I'll have to start work on getting teams to assess and map the basements and dungeons and whatever else might be down here. And I'll have to get the details on the reconstruction of the Keep if you want me to oversee it.”

She sighed happily as they made their way down the twisty corridor. “You're a good man, Nathaniel Howe. I'm so glad to have you with me.”

“You're an extraordinary woman, Rowan Cousland. I'm very happy to be with you.”

 

~*~

 

Nathaniel's promotion had been seamless. It was common knowledge that he was an heir of the old Arl of Amaranthine, that Vigil's Keep was his ancestral home, and that he was well-trained to lead. Most had simply assumed that it was only a matter of time before he was promoted.

It had also, apparently, been the common view that Rowan and Nathaniel would end up in bed together eventually. Varel certainly hadn't been surprised when she told him she and Nathaniel were romantically involved. He had simply nodded and then said, “He is a most fortunate man. He'll do well by you. ”

So, to Rowan's great relief, it took surprisingly little time for everyone, including Rowan and Nathaniel, to adjust to the Warden-Commander's new personal arrangements. Nathaniel, for his part, was professional and appropriately deferential when they were acting in an official capacity. When they were in a more casual setting, he deliberately made small but visible gestures of affection. He often took her hand as they walked around the Keep, and he occasionally stood with his hand on the small of her back in a way that only an intimate parter would do, or stretched out an arm casually across the back of her chair. Small things, but visible ones. The way he claimed his territory was amusing. It reminded Rowan of a male mabari.

More than once, he kissed her quite firmly on the mouth when he beat her at sparring, calling it his prize for winning. She took to kissing him when she won, and it became a common sight to see the Commander and her Lieutenant playfully smooching each other as they tried to hit each other with blunted weapons or knock each other into the dirt. On the archery field, it was not uncommon to see him standing rather too close to her, pressed to her back, whispering in her ear as his hands guided hers while she lined up her shot. There were frequent kisses when one or the other of them scored a good hit, as well.

The Commander's improved mood did not go unnoticed. She joked more, laughed more, was more inclined to stop and chat with her few Wardens, the garrison soldiers, and the general staff. Her good spirits were infectious, and the environment of Vigil's Keep seemed somehow brighter, more cheerful.

The Commander, herself, however, was starting to be concerned. She found herself humming or even singing for no reason. She looked forward to going to bed at night, because her lover would be there with her. Her nightmares were far less frequent, and when they did trouble her, his presence made them far more tolerable and easier to shake off. She craved his company and his touch, and when she was alone with him, she felt safe and at peace, and the world was kept at bay for a little while. When they made love, nothing else existed but the two of them and the incredible intimacy and pleasure they shared. She was happier than she had been in a very long time.

It was really making her nervous.

 

 


	23. In Tents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan and Nathaniel finally get some time alone in a tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual references, but nothing explicit.

Rowan entered the tent and glanced at the double-size bed roll she was going to share with Nathaniel, who was right behind her. She felt strangely nervous. They were thoroughly intimate and she often felt like they'd always been together, so there was no reason for her to feel as nervous as she did, and it was just... strange.

It didn't help that they had Oghren with them on this trip to Kal'Hirol to confirm that the darkspawn there were well and truly gone. Oghren was her only Grey Warden warrior at the moment, or she would have brought someone with less tendency to comment obnoxiously on her sex life. Anders, her only Grey Warden mage, was also along, and while he did sometimes comment, he was at least a little more witty about it.

The alternative, of course, was not to sleep with Nathaniel, but there was no way that was going to happen. One of the good things about being in an intimate relationship with a fellow Grey Warden was being able to take comfort in each other in a way that just wasn't possible with someone outside the order, and she wasn't about to forego that comfort.

“It's been a long time since I was alone in a tent with a lover,” Rowan commented, keeping her voice low. “Well, other than that time you came to my tent when I was having a nightmare, but we weren't lovers then, so it doesn't really count.”

She sat down and started to unlace her boot, but Nathaniel intervened. “Let me do that,” he said as he moved so he was squatting between her feet.

“I do like it when you undress me, but I really can undress myself,” she protested, but not very vehemently.

“I like to take care of you, when you let me. This is one thing you usually allow me to do, so I do it.” He pulled the other boot off and put it aside with its mate, and then reached for the buckles on her armour.

She couldn't help but smile. She knelt up and started on the buckle on his chest and they were both shortly down to their undershirts and tights. It was unwise to sleep completely naked in a setting like a camp in the wilderness, but Rowan pulled her shirt off long enough to remove the supportive breast binding, and then dropped the shirt back on. While she did that, Nathaniel was removing the tie from his hair and running his fingers through its length. Rowan slipped into the bedroll before him, and held the blanket. She usually just slept with her hair plaited and had Nathaniel rework it in the morning. He slid in beside her, pulling her close and planting a kiss on her forehead.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

“Of course.”

He shifted his position a bit, just getting a little more comfortable, and then was still, his breathing regular and somehow comforting. She, on the other hand, lay awake, quietly enjoying the scent of his body, the steady beat of his heart, and the way she felt better, stronger, just being close to him.

Not so long ago, she had been with Alistair in a similar situation, though she couldn't recall now that he ever really made her feel stronger or safer. He made her laugh, he distracted her wonderfully, he was an eager lover and he tried to be a friend, but if anyone was making people feel safer, it was Rowan, not Alistair. And while she was trying keep her head above the ocean of despair and grief and fear that constantly threatened to overwhelm her, Alistair was her lifeline.

Their relationship wasn't something she'd necessarily chosen, but with the loss of her family and her first love, with the shock of the Joining and the sudden crushing pressure on her shoulders to be the saviour of Ferelden, if not the world, it had just happened. As the only two Grey Wardens in half a continent, they quite naturally became friends. He was sweet, awkward, and wonderfully endearing. And, of course, he was extremely easy to look at. Falling for him romantically had been quite natural. The stolen moments she spent alone with him became one of her few respites from the pressure of being the person who would become known as the Hero of Ferelden.

When Alistair had left her, she had lost her lifeline. After that, only grim determination and her Cousland sense of duty propelled her forward.

When she made the decision at the Landsmeet to use Loghain's skill and talents for the Grey Wardens instead of executing him on the spot, she had fully expected Alistair to disapprove, even be angry, but she had also expected him to trust her enough to know she was doing it for good reasons. But he hadn't, and he'd refused to listen to her reasoning. When it came down to a crisis, he had refused to do his duty as a Grey Warden, and rejected her. So much for her expectations.

Sometimes she still wondered if maybe she should have just given in to his demand that she execute Loghain, but despite everything, she still believed she'd made a sound command decision, politically and strategically advantageous to the Wardens and to Ferelden. If she'd known she would truly lose Alistair, would she have done the same thing? She honestly didn't know.

But now there was Nathaniel, and she worried she was doing the same thing, using him as a lifeline. True, they were incredibly well-matched, probably better than she and Alistair had been, all things considered. And, true, Rowan was in a position of strength now, and not one of uncertainty and confusion, though she was still burdened by command. She was no longer constantly on the move, there was no bounty on her head, she was the respected Commander of the Grey and effectively an arl, and had the respect of the monarch and most of the bannorn. The man responsible for the death of her family was gone, and so was the man who empowered him and started a civil war, the man whose sacrifice had ultimately ended the Blight and allowed her to live.

She did genuinely believe that Nathaniel loved her, and she believed his promise that he would never forsake her. If they could get past the fact Nathaniel's father killed her family and Rowan killed his father, the worst was probably already behind them, thankfully.

All in all, the situation was very different and Rowan could see that, but she was still skittish about it all. It certainly _felt_ different than her relationship with Alistair. With Nathaniel, it felt... entirely right. They felt like equals, like true partners. There was no sense of stumbling. It seemed destined, if one believed in such things.

Still, she questioned her decision to take a lover at all, let alone Nathaniel Howe. Was she just enjoying an intimate relationship with a man with whom she had a lot in common and whose company she enjoyed, or was she one of those pathetic women who couldn't function without a man? It was true that since she came of age, she'd never gone very long without a love of some description. The idea was troubling.

Before Alistair had left her, Rowan had never been so inclined to constantly question herself, doubt her decisions, mull over every little thing she felt, thought, chose. It made her a lot more circumspect, anyway, and much more conscious of possible consequences to her decisions. She wasn't sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. Probably, like so many things, it was both.

“What's wrong?” Nathaniel asked softly.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“You're restless. Tell me what's bothering you.”

She sighed. He was becoming so attuned to her. Annoying. “I don't know,” she said.

“It's the tent, isn't it? It reminds you of the fool,” he suggested, caressing her hip with one hand.

“Not exactly. But.. a little.”

“I know of a pleasant distraction, if you're interested,” he declared, and slid his hand down over her hip to her bottom. He gave her a squeeze and pulled her hips closer.

“That's your answer for everything.”

“Not true,” he protested. “There's also sparring with you, helping you kill things, bringing you food, getting you into a hot bath, plying you with alcohol, or, if all else fails, making you cry.”

She couldn't suppress her giggle. She knew this was going to happen. That if she told him what was bothering her, he was going to make her remember just why it was she enjoyed his company so much. Sneaky rogue, he was.

“Oghren's just outside on watch. Are you sure you want to...”

“Make love to you in a tent? Oh, sweetheart, I've wanted to do that for longer than you might suspect. But if you don't want to, we can just talk. Or just lie here quietly. Or sleep. Whatever you want.”

She did want to talk to him. She had carried so many burdens for so long, so much grief and sorrow, fear and longing, anger and regret. It had nearly done her in. And he was so good at helping her sort it all out.

“How about I ask and you answer?” he coaxed softly, as if reading her thoughts.

“Hm. All right.”

“Are you feeling unhappy because you're thinking about that fool?”

“Not really, no. Well, a bit. I was thinking about how... close he and I were, I guess.”

“And you're comparing that with how we are?”

“Yes.”

“And do we come up wanting?”

“What? No! No. It's just that... I... have come to rely on you. A lot. And it's... worrisome.”

“I will never forsake you. I will honour that promise, always, no matter what happens.”

“I believe you,” she answered sincerely. “But that's not...”

She fell silent, and he was quiet for a little while.

“This is about you, then?” he asked. “Sweetheart. Tell me what's bothering you.”

She took a deep breath. “I'm so... _happy_ with you. I feel stronger, better. More alive. I haven't felt this way since... well, since before the war, honestly. But what if I'm just one of those insipid women who can't function without a man, so I latched onto you to prop myself up?”

Nathaniel snorted. “Well, _that_ isn't true. The Rowan Cousland I know is fierce and strong and intelligent and capable, and was long before I had the pleasure of sharing a bed with her. But putting that aside, there's no shame in taking comfort from companionship, in drawing strength from being with someone who loves you. Consider your parents. They were famously a love match, and your mother was an exceptionally capable woman. Do you think her loving your father meant that she wouldn't have been exceptional without him? Or that she was weak? Or insipid?” 

“Of course not. But... it's just... I'm never long between lovers, let me put it that way.”

She felt rather than heard him chuckle.

“That, my love, is because you go after what you desire while also being incredibly desirable. You're wonderfully bold and you know what you like and what you want, and you enjoy having a lover, so you take one when and if it pleases you. That is why you're never long between lovers.”

“Hmm. When you put it that way...”

“Sweetheart, I have known a great many women who defined themselves by the man they were with. Amongst the nobility, especially, it's terribly common. You aren't like that, and you were never like that, my Cousland spitfire. The simple truth here is that you and I are a damned fine match. We're two sides of the same coin. We _should_ be together. For life. For love. Perhaps together, we can do something we cannot do apart.”

Maker's breath. He was so compelling, so convincing. It nearly took her breath away, and made her heart seem to swell in her chest, filling her with a kind of golden warmth that utterly drove away the darkness and doubt.

“I love you,” she said quietly. She'd known it for a while, but she had never said it out loud. Not that he didn't know, but it had been hard for her to admit to herself, let alone to him.

“I love you, too,” he said simply.

She couldn't help but smile. He could have been smug, pointing out that she'd admitted what they both already knew, or teased her in any of a dozen ways. But there were no jokes, no smart comments, nothing to break the mood or ruin the moment. It was gracious and loving, and that golden warmth in her heart filled her until it overflowed.

“About that earlier offer...” she said suggestively.

“As you like,” he answered. He shifted his body and moved in to kiss her, one of his hands slipping under her shirt.

They made love as quietly as they could manage, but Rowan was fairly sure they'd been a lot more noisy than they had intended. It was hard to tell when she tended to lose all awareness of everything but him, of them. When they made love it was like nothing else existed, and sometimes, it was almost like they weren't two people at all, but two halves of the same person. As fanciful as she knew that was, that's what it felt like.

When they were both spent, catching their breath after adjusting their clothes again, overcome by the delightful warmth of afterglow, Rowan distinctly heard Oghren chuckling outside. She just sighed and snuggled up to Nathaniel's warmth as she pulled the covers over her shoulders.

As she drifted to sleep, content and relaxed, it occurred to Rowan for the first time that perhaps it hadn't been such a terrible turn of events that Alistair had left her. After all, the war had still been stopped, Anora was a competent ruler who very much owed the Grey Wardens a few favours, Loghain had paid for his hubris with his life and stopped the Blight in the process, and the Grey Wardens were slowly being rebuilt, so other than her own personal heartache, it had actually worked out about as well as could be expected.

She had always been dubious of the notion of Fate, orchestrating events with some twisted sense of humour and a poetic sense of dramatic irony, but perhaps it wasn't as far fetched as she had thought. If she could believe in anything being destined or preordained, her relationship with Nathaniel was one thing that certainly felt that way, and it never would have happened if Alistair hadn't left her. Strange to think of it, but then she drifted off to sleep listening to Nathaniel's breathing, surrounded by his unique, pleasant, masculine scent, feeling safe and warm and confident and loved.

 


	24. Oh, Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Teryn of Highever would like to speak to his sister about the contents of her letter.

Rowan sat in Varel's quarters at his desk, sorting through documents from Weisshaupt Fortress, delivered a few days prior along with a vial of archdemon blood by four Grey Warden warriors who were now permanently assigned to Ferelden and her command. Varel was still weak from his significant injuries, but his health was starting to rally. He was getting up and around a bit more, and clearly enjoyed Rowan's visits. He was also enjoying having something to do, and she talked with him about the documents and materials as she looked through them, while he sat in a comfortable chair and petted Ser Barkley on the head. 

A sharp rap on the open door interrupted their work.

“Commander, the Teyrn of Highever is here and wishes to see you. He and his men are with Captain Garevel in the main hall.”

“My brother is here? Now? Tell him I'll be there in just a moment.”

She put the documents she'd been holding into a the lockbox she'd brought them in and put the box on Varel's desk. “We can do more tomorrow, if you're up to it.”

“I shall look forward to that,” he answered with a smile. “For now, this old man needs a nap.”

“You're not that old,” Rowan scolded, smiling fondly. “Come on, Ser Barkley, let's go see Fergus. You can visit with Varel again later.” The dog tilted his head and then looked at Varel in question, displaying that uncanny mabari intelligence.

“Yes, ser, I'm fine. You go with your master,” Varel said to the dog, settling onto the bed and closing his eyes. “I'll just have a rest. Shut the door when you go, if you please,” he added for Rowan's benefit.

Rowan stepped into the big hall, the mabari at her heels. Sunlight streamed through the windows in the vaulted ceiling, and Fergus was standing in a beam of light in splendid silverite armour, looking every inch the warrior lord that he was. There was a small company of knights and soldiers with him, also armoured.

“Fergus?” she called.

The teyrn turned his head in her direction and she saw his face through the front of his helmet as he grinned, holding out his arms to her. She went to him instantly, but refused to let him crush her against his armour, a lesson she'd learned long ago. Ser Barkley wagged his tiny tail so hard his whole body wriggled with excitement and Fergus let go of Rowan to bend down and rub the dog on the head with the leather palm of his gauntleted hand.

“Shall I have the staff assign quarters to you and your men?” she asked, frowning with confusion.

“Just the night, and possibly the next, depending on... how things go.”

“How things go?” she laughed. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Is there somewhere we speak privately?”

“Certainly. Captain?” Rowan said to Garevel, who had been standing quietly nearby as a courtesy to the guests and also, Rowan thought, possibly as a security measure. “I'll trust you to make appropriate arrangements for the teryn and his men. Don't worry about arranging a private dinner, he can eat in the dining hall with the rest of us, teyrn or no. I want to show off my brother.”

“Yes, Commander,” Garevel answered crisply.

“We weren't prepared for a visit from so illustrious a lord, my lord,” Rowan told Fergus with a grin.

“Oh, and, Garevel,” she added, “would you speak to the kitchen, please, and have them send some refreshments to the upstairs parlour where the Lieutenant and I sometimes dine? My brother and I will go there shortly. Just some tea and biscuits or something. Doesn't have to be fancy.”

“Yes, Commander. My lord,” Garevel said to Fergus with a deferential nod and a slight bow before he strode from the hall.

To her brother's men, Rowan said, “You're free to wander around the Keep as you will, although I must caution you about entering the cellars. They're not entirely safe in all areas, so best to avoid them, though I can't think of any reason why you'd want to go down there, anyway.”

Rowan sent Ser Barkley outside and then tucked her hand into her brother's elbow, guiding him to toward the stairs and to the parlour.

“It's good to see you,” she said as they sat down at the table. “To what do I owe this surprise?”

“I got your letter,” he said simply, taking off his helmet and setting it aside. “I decided to pay you a visit to discuss its contents.”

Rowan's brows drew together and she asked, “Do you always reply to letters in person? You must be kept exceedingly busy if this is your usual habit. What is this really about?”

Before Fergus could answer, there was a voice at the door. Rowan smiled at the young woman who carried in a tray of tea and cookies, thanking her by name as she set out the refreshments. The woman curtseyed before hurrying away, shutting the door behind her.

“I want to make sure my little sister is... not being compromised.”

Rowan frowned. “Compromised? In what way?”

“Well, you and Nathaniel Howe.”

“What, because I made him second-in-command?”

Fergus pursed his lips and frowned. “No, not that.”

“Oh, so this is about my personal life, then? You do realise I'm a grown woman, yes? A Grey Warden? And not only that, I'm the Warden-Commander of Ferelden and I'm the Arl of Amaranthine, by office if not by personal title. When I was the eligible daughter of a powerful noble house, you might have had legitimate reason to raise questions, but that is no longer the case.”

“You're still my little sister,” Fergus said with a shrug of his armoured shoulder.

She made a noise of annoyance in her throat as she poured the tea. “I am, but questioning my personal life has never been something you felt the need to do in any great measure, and yet you travel all the way to Vigil's Keep unannounced to discuss it. I'll ask you again: what is this really about?”

“You are the only family I have left, and I worry about you, no matter what,” Fergus said, and then paused, his dark brows drawn together on his handsome face in a cross between a frown and a scowl. “There is, of course, the matter of Nathaniel's father having murdered our parents, the entire household, my wife and son and...” His voice broke and he took a ragged breath to steady himself. “We hadn't told anyone yet, but Oriana was expecting another baby.”

Rowan's face fell instantly. “I'm so sorry Fergus.”

Now, at least, they were getting closer to the problem. Fergus was missing their parents, mourning his family, his son, and his pregnant wife, and he was either using the news of her new relationship as an excuse to visit, or he was still emotionally off-balance and overreacting. Probably both.

“You must know that Nathaniel wasn't anywhere near Ferelden during the war,” Rowan said, her voice quiet but firm. “He didn't know what was going on until it was all over, and even then, he didn't know the whole story. Rendon Howe shattered the lives of our family, of his own family, of hundreds or even thousands of others. You'll get no argument from Nathaniel or from me on that. And you'll have to excuse my indelicacy, but what does any of that have to do with two Grey Wardens enjoying an intimate relationship?”

“The Grey Wardens don't have rules against... fraternisation?”

“No. Wardens are free to consort as they wish, within the order, or without. It's a lot harder to maintain a relationship with a civilian, of course. Nobody really understands what it is to be a Grey Warden except for another Grey Warden. So long as it doesn't interfere with our duty, nobody really cares who we... couple with.”

“Don't forget, I knew Nathaniel before he went to the Free Marches,” Fergus said, moving on to his next point of contention. “He had quite the roving eye and was most free with his affections.”

“As were you,” she pointed out. “You two were thick as thieves in those days! In fact, I remember a tournament Nathaniel attended at Highever, where you were carrying on together like a pair of rakes. When you weren't actively competing in the tourney, you were drinking and chasing skirts together.”

“Is that the tournament where you followed us around like a mabari for most of the day? You were what, eleven? Twelve? Every time I turned around, there was my little sister, spying on me! Maker knows how you managed to escape Nan's supervision to do that.”

“Ah, that's why I was keeping you in sight. I wanted to see the festival and the food and all that on my own terms, so I convinced Nan I'd be with you. And so I was. More or less.”

“Of course,” he replied with a hint of a smirk. “And you had a crush on Nathaniel, didn't you, Pup?”

“I did,” she admitted, “though it didn't last long. I don't think he noticed me at all other than to grunt a greeting when it was absolutely required. But as for that tournament, I have the notion that you and Nathaniel were actually competing with each other to see who could accomplish the most seductions. Were you?”

Fergus looked decidedly uncomfortable and he cleared his throat before saying, “That's really none of your –”

“Oh, no you don't,” Rowan interrupted. “My private life is supposed to be fair game, but I can't ask what you got up to years ago?” She laughed. “No, no, turn about is fair play, and you started this. You two _were_ competing, weren't you? Do keep in mind that if I ask Nathaniel, he will certainly tell me the truth, so it's no use lying.”

“We were competing,” Fergus admitted with a rueful smile. “It wasn't the first time, either. But there were rules about what constituted a successful seduction, and it didn't have to... go the full course, if you take my meaning. There was also a gentleman's agreement to be truthful about it if you failed to, ah, meet the minimum requirements with a particular attempt. As I recall, Nathaniel usually won those competitions. He used the whole _quiet and brooding_ thing very much to his advantage. And this, by the way, is part of why I was concerned when I learned about your relationship with him.”

“I see,” Rowan said, with a smirk and a quirk to her eyebrow. “When I was not yet a woman and he was a teenager, I had a fleeting crush on him and so you thought that now that I'm an adult, I would be particularly susceptible to his dark moods and brooding countenance and sarcastic comments?”

“Well, that's not... I wouldn't have put it like that. It's more that he was... not very serious about his dalliances.”

“Think, Fergus. You were every bit as shameless as he was when you were young, but you managed to grow out of that and fall in love. Times do change, and so do people.”

“I take your point,” he admitted somewhat grudgingly. “And while you will always be my little sister, you are no longer a child. I know.”

Rowan said nothing. She could see the concern that lay beneath his interrogation, and given all that he'd lost, that they'd both lost, she couldn't blame her brother for wanting some measure of reassurance.

“Do you love him?” Fergus asked finally.

“I do,” she said quietly. “At least, I do now. We had rather a difficult start. Very antagonistic, for a lot of reasons. It's good now.”

“I would still like to speak with him. Alone.”

She took a sip of her tea and sighed. “As you like. He's on a mapping and inspection expedition in relation to the repair of the Keep, but he should be back by mid-afternoon. Give me time to tell him you're here and then I'm sure he'll be happy to talk to you, and to reassure you that he's not compromising my virtue.”

Fergus guffawed at that. “Oh, I'm not worried about your virtue, Pup. I am all too aware that my sister is a saucy minx. In fact, I've heard some rumours about you,” Fergus commented, changing the subject. “You and King Maric's bastard?”

“Yes,” she answered ruefully. “I loved him, would have remained with him, married him, even, but he left me, after a most humiliating public outburst at the Landsmeet. You must have heard all about that. I'm sure it was wonderfully juicy gossip, given that the entire bannorn were present to witness it.”

“Of course I did. You're better off without him, from what I hear. But I asked because I wanted to make sure your relationship with Nathaniel wasn't... you know, some kind of thing you stumbled into because you were hurting.”

“My relationship with... the royal bastard was more of a stumble, actually. The situation with Nathaniel is different, and I've spent a great deal of time thinking about it,” she answered honestly. “Imagine that, me, thinking about things at great length instead of just arrogantly assuming that whatever I want must automatically be the best decision! Quite the step into maturity, eh? But you said _rumours_ , plural. Tell me, what else have you heard?”

“Well, I didn't necessarily believe it, given the reputation of the bann in question. There are always rumours about who he's bedding, and they're only true about a third of the time.”

She smirked. “I see. Well, we weren't particularly discreet. I'm not surprised people noticed.”

“Ah, so it's true, then.”

“Yes. We kept company with each other when I was staying at the palace in Denerim.”

Fergus nodded. “So that was your rebound romance?”

“You could call it a romance, of sorts, but it was more of a friendship... with extras. We like each other, and he was always very kind and supportive. When I received word that I was to become Warden-Commander and was needed in Amaranthine, our duties drew us in different directions, as we always knew they eventually would. We're still friends. I still correspond with him on various matters both personal and political.”

Fergus reached for a cookie. He chewed it thoroughly and then ventured, “Well, I've always wondered, and since you're being so forthcoming, I may as well ask. Does he live up to his reputation?”

“Yes, indeed,” she answered with a cheeky grin. “And that obnoxious nickname? Very well-earned.”

Fergus chuckled. “Saucy minx.”

“So I keep hearing.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of this writing, I have forty chapters of this written, though most will undergo editing as I continue. It's quite a backlog, and more than enough wiggle room. I've been posting twice a week for a while now, but I'm thinking of posting a chapter every third day. I want to maintain my buffer but still keep the pace. So I'll try that and see how it works out.


	25. Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan has a word with Nathaniel about her brother, Fergus.

“Ah, Nate, there you are,” Rowan said, looking up from the desk in their room as he walked in. “I need to talk to you about you something.”

Nathaniel shut the door behind him.

“Can it wait until I've gotten out of my armour?” he asked a little tiredly. “I just spent hours mucking around in dust and dirt and...” He caught a glimpse of the expression on her face and immediately wanted to know, “What's wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, not exactly,” she answered as she got up from the desk. She smiled at him, her expression so affectionate and warm that Nathaniel just had to step toward her and kiss her firmly on the mouth.

“All right,” he said. “What's going on?”

Rowan reached out and started to work the buckles on Nathaniel's armour and he stood and let her undress him. It was a habit they'd managed to acquire, and it was one they both seemed to enjoy, an intimate but practical ritual of mutual affection.

“My brother, Fergus, is here for a surprise visit,” Rowan said. “He wants to talk to you. About me. About us.”

Nathaniel sighed with relief. “Is that all? I was expecting... well, I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't that. What does he want to talk about?”

“I asked the same thing. Honestly, I don't know why he thinks I need or want his... intervention. He does seem a little lost, though, and he mentioned that I'm the only family he has left. He misses his wife and son, I can tell you that. And I learned today that Oriana was pregnant when she died, which just makes it all that much worse.”

Rowan gathered up the pieces of armour she'd put on the floor and arranged them on the armour stand.

“Does he blame me for what my father did?” Nathaniel asked quietly.

“I don't think so. Though he did mention it, so be prepared. He also mentioned that you were a skirt chaser in your youth, though he didn't use those exact words. I pointed out that he was, as well. You two used to go out carousing together, in fact.”

“Does that bother you?” Nathaniel asked.

“Should it bother me?” she asked.

Rowan turned to the dresser and pulled out one of Nathaniel's tunics and some soft leather breeches and tossed them on the bed before she started to pull up the tunic Nathaniel was wearing. She ran her fingers through the hair on his chest, as she always did. As much as he teased about her being unable to keep her hands off of him, she really did seem to be unable to resist when it came to his chest. Nathaniel smirked and caught her hand and raised it to his lips so he could kiss the inside of her wrist before he released it and started to unlace his breeches.

“Those days are behind me, and they were long before I came back to Ferelden. You have nothing to worry about on that count. I do have to wonder something, though. Has Fergus, of all people, taken it on himself to be a guardian of your virtue or something? I might have to tell him the truth about how you were the instigator of intimacy if I'm forced to defend my honour.”

Rowan sat down on the edge of the bed. “Oh, if you hoped to shock my brother with true stories of my sexual boldness, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. He is well aware of my lack of maidenly innocence. He used to call me a saucy minx, in fact. Still does.”

Nathaniel chuckled and went to get the clean breeches she'd put out, only to have her reach out and pull him to her with both arms. She rubbed her face against the trail of dark hair on his belly and gave him a soft nip with her teeth, followed by a kiss. Nathaniel groaned.

“Well, on that count, he is entirely correct. You are a saucy minx.”

“I thought you liked that about me?”

“I do, but right now I actually would like to get dressed.”

“If you insist,” she answered with an exaggerated pout and a flutter of her eyelashes.

“I'd be happy to receive a demonstration of your shocking and shameless misbehaviour later, if it pleases you,” he said as he laced up the clean breeches.

“That sounds like a bit of fun. I'll have to think about what we might get up to that would qualify as shocking and shameless misbehaviour.”

“I can think of a few things,” he answered with a smirk. He went to the basin and poured some water into it, splashed his face and hands, then dampened a cloth to give his armpits and chest and neck a quick once-over before he put on his tunic. He sat next to Rowan on the bed while he put on clean socks and laced up his leather boots, and then he got to his feet and stood in front of her.

Taking her hands, he pulled her to a standing position before he dropped to one knee. The look of shock and surprise on her face was wonderful.

“I'm sorry, I haven't got a ring to offer you. I'll see to that as soon as I can. Rowan Cousland, will you marry me?”

Rowan just stared at him for a long minute. “Did you just propose to me?”

“I did.”

“Then... no.”

“Why not? Not romantic enough? What could be more romantic than a completely spur of the moment marriage proposal in a bedroom in the middle of the afternoon?”

She giggled, and he grinned. He loved it when she giggled. She never used to do, but she did now regularly, and as far as he could tell, only for him.

“It's not that. It's just that there's no need. We're both Grey Wardens, so we almost certainly can't produce any heirs, and even if we could, there's nothing to inherit other than our personal affects. Beyond that, I don't need permission from the Chantry or anyone else to be with you. Marriage is... unnecessary.”

“It's not about necessity, my love,” he said softly as he got this feet. He reached out to caress her cheek with his fingertips. “I want to marry you because I want you to be my wife. When you introduce me to people, I want you to say, 'this is my husband', rather than, 'this is my second-in-command' or 'this is that rogue archer who fucks me senseless' or 'this is Nathaniel Howe and he didn't know what his father was doing during the war'.”

“Well, that's certainly an argument,” she admitted with a smirk. “I do get tired of introducing you as that rogue archer who fucks me senseless. It is a little confronting.”

“Save yourself all that embarrassment, then, and marry me.”

“Not even for the convenience of introductions.”

“So you'll never marry me?” he asked, frowning, his voice suddenly serious.

She paused, and chewed on her lower lip for just a moment. She was considering.

“It's bad luck to say never,” she concluded.

“Then I'll just keep asking,” he responded lightly. “Eventually, you'll agree, if only to shut me up.”

“You are a stubborn man,” she said with a sigh.

“I am just as exasperating and confounding as you are, sweetheart.”

“So, you reckon it's the pot and the kettle calling each other black? Ah, we're so well-matched.”

“Indeed we are,” he murmured, pulling her into his arms and nuzzling her neck with his nose. “Two of a kind.”

“Tell me, though,” Rowan asked, “is there any reason you decided to propose to me here and now? Were you just suddenly overcome with emotion, or do you have some sneaky ulterior motive?”

“You're too clever by half. I just thought that if I had to go defend our relationship to your brother the teryn, who commands a division of the Royal Army and who I happen to know has a mean punch, I wanted to be able to say that I'd asked you to marry me. If you had actually said yes, I'd be able to tell him we're betrothed. If you turned me down, which is what I was expecting, well, he can't say I haven't tried to make an honest woman of you.”

Rowan laughed out loud. “I can't fault that logic,” she admitted. “Why did you expect me to turn you down?”

“Because you're still skittish.”

“Are you really going to keep proposing to me?”

“Yes, unless you specifically tell me to stop. I am a stubborn man, as you say, and I'm also a patient one. Fergus aside, I sincerely do want to marry you. If I'd thought about a proposal a little more, I really would have gotten you a ring and arranged something more romantic, though.”

“At least it would be a love match,” she said with a smile.

“So it would.”

“What will happen if I never agree to marry you?”

He smiled at her. “You'll just have to spend the rest of your life introducing me as that rogue archer who fucks you senseless, won't you?” He leaned in to kiss her on the mouth, and she responded eagerly, deepening the kiss. Nathaniel returned her passion but then reluctantly pulled his mouth away from hers.

“As much as I love kissing you, sweetheart,” he said with a sigh, “I'd better go speak to your brother. I will tell you now that I do intend to make it clear to Fergus that I will not be parted from you, no matter what he thinks of the situation. I will not let your brother, however well-intentioned he may be, interfere.”

Nathaniel was a little surprised by how strongly he felt. Just the thought of someone, of anyone, coming between himself and Rowan was enough to make him furious and bring out all his innate stubbornness at the same time. He would not be moved on this matter. Not now, not ever.

“For what it's worth,” Rowan said, “I made it clear to him that I love you, and that I intend to be with you, whether or not he approves. So in case you were wondering just how much influence my brother has over me, the answer is: very little. I do love him, of course, because he is my brother, and I hope we will be able to put his mind at ease, but he really has no say in the matter.”

“You're as stubborn as I am,” Nathaniel said with a smirk. “I suppose you should send word to Fergus so we can meet. Are we using the parlour on the second floor? We should add it to the refurbishment list.”

She smiled at him. “Thinking about curtains?”

“Not at all,” he grinned.

 

 


	26. Sorted Suitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel and Fergus have a talk.

“Fergus,” Nathaniel said with a smile when he stepped into the parlour. “How are you?”

“My entire family are dead, murdered by your father. How should I be?”

Nathaniel raised both eyebrows and inhaled deeply, the breath turning into a sigh as he exhaled, and he let his mask of impassivity drop into place. He knew Fergus well enough to know that the man was quite deliberately challenging him, goading him in order to elicit a response. If that's how Fergus wanted to proceed, Nathaniel would counter it accordingly.

“My lord,” Nathaniel said, much more formally and quietly this time, “I have already expressed my sorrow and my condolences to your sister. What my father did was shocking and truly awful. If I had known... But I did not. I lost everything, too. My lands, my income, my family, my title, all of it. By the Maker's grace, my sister Delilah lives, but no other, as far as I can tell, apart from some distant cousins in the Free Marches and an uncle who disowned his sister, my mother, before I was born. My family name is heaped with shame because my father is known as the Butcher of Denerim, an epithet I am sorry to say I believe he earned. I have gone through all of this hundreds of times in my own mind. All I can do is say that I am truly sorry for your loss.”

Nathaniel stood with his feet apart, hands at his sides, waiting to see how this man he had once called a friend would react. Neither of them were armed, thankfully, and Nathaniel didn't expect the meeting to come to blows, but while he was in a non-defensive position, he stood ready to move at a moment's notice.

Fergus stared back at him, eyes narrowed. After several long, tense moments, he nodded curtly, seated himself at the small dining table and motioned for Nathaniel to do the same. They ended up facing each other across the light refreshments which both of them ignored.

“So, I understand that you're fucking my sister,” Fergus said.

Nathaniel inhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing, lip involuntarily curling into a snarl at such an insolent comment about Rowan. He actually had the impulse to punch Fergus in the face for such discourtesy, but, again, Fergus was deliberately pushing him, and so Nathaniel resisted that urge.

“I would not have put it that way,” Nathaniel gritted out, trying to keep from growling, “and I will thank to never again speak so disrespectfully of your sister.” Then, for emphasis, and to return Fergus' goad, he added, “But since you bring it up, yes, I am in her bed every night and I make love to her every chance I get, in bed or elsewhere. It's hard to keep my hands off of her, sometimes. Happily, she can't keep her hands off me, either.”

Fergus made a noise in his throat that was something like a grunt. Nathaniel smirked slightly. He'd hit the mark, just as Fergus had. He hoped he'd made his point and they could move on.

“Do you love her?” Fergus asked, his voice just bordering on demanding.

“With all my heart.”

Fergus raised his eyebrows in faint surprise. “So this is serious on your part, is it? Not just a dalliance?”

“I was in love with her before I ever shared a bed with her, and it was she who made the first move in that direction.”

“I see,” Fergus responded, somewhat grudgingly. “Do you have any intention of marrying?”

“In fact, I did propose marriage, and she turned me down. I intend to keep asking, but you must know how stubborn she can be.”

“She doesn't want to marry you?” Fergus asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“She says it's unnecessary, and that she doesn't need anyone's permission to be with me.”

Fergus snorted. “Yes, that sounds like her.”

And with that snort, the tension was broken, much to Nathaniel's relief.

“With or without an official sanction,” Nathaniel said, his voice steady and firm but not aggressive, “we are very much together, and I am devoted to her in every way. To be perfectly honest, saying that I love her is a pitiful understatement, but there are no words to express it.”

Fergus' eyes widened, but he simply sat back and regarded Nathaniel in silence for a little while. Nathaniel had not intended to confess so much. He'd meant to maintain his impassive mask and just stare Fergus down until he backed off, but when Nathaniel was given the opportunity to speak of his feelings for Rowan, he found himself unable to resist doing just that. If he hadn't known Fergus Cousland for most of his life, hadn't called him a friend, it would have been different, of course, but Fergus deserved to know his sister was not just a plaything or a passing fancy, and Nathaniel was strangely grateful for the opportunity to talk about Rowan and her effect on him.

Eventually, Fergus said, “All right, then. Better than Thomas, anyway.”

“What's this?”

“Oh, your father would sometimes bring your younger brother around to try to impress Rowan. She never liked him. I believe he once backed her into a corner and got a lot more familiar with her than he should have. She brought her knee to his groin and punched him in the nose and then went off somewhere that he couldn't find her. It's lucky she wasn't armed, or it might have started a civil war when she put a dagger in his neck. Neither my father nor I heard about what had happened until well after the fact, and I don't know what Thomas told your father about the two black eyes and the broken nose he had from that punch, but Thomas never came back. Still, your father would try to tell Rowan how much Thomas liked her and how maybe he should bring him along and such... I don't know if he somehow really thought she would someday just agree to a betrothal, or if he was just taunting her.”

“I cannot work out what my father was doing, or trying to do,” Nathaniel admitted with a scowl. “I've been trying to understand, but I simply can't. I've gathered plenty of information on what he did, but I still don't know why he did most of the things he did. For all I know, he was plagued by an envy demon or something. And while I have no idea how long he was plotting and scheming, it must have been years. From what I can tell, the war gave him an opportunity, and he took it.”

For the first time, Fergus looked sympathetic. “Learning all this about your father must be difficult to reconcile, given how much you looked up to him.”

“That, my friend, is an understatement. And what's more, I managed to lie to myself about his character for most of my life, and then I acted rashly on misinformation and wrongful expectations when I learned he'd been killed. Not my proudest moment, I must say. My sister says I always had a blind spot where my father was concerned, and she is correct. My father made fools of a lot of people, and I was one of them.”

“Rowan killed your father...”

“She did. But he was engaged in so many deceitful, dishonourable dealings, if she hadn't done it, someone else would have. If I had known, if I had been present, I might well have ended him, myself. I may have had a blind spot, but I'm not blind. I would never have been able to sit back while he... Anyway, I don't blame Rowan. I did once, but that was part of my own misguided assumptions. She's forgiven me, but I won't forget my mistake.”

Fergus nodded solemnly. Again, Nathaniel had not intended to say so much, but once he started speaking, the words just tumbled from him, heartfelt. Fergus had the good grace to accept the confession for what it was.

They'd been fast friends in their youth. More than once, they'd gone drinking, gambling, and carousing in the pubs and bawdy houses of Highever, of Denerim, of Amaranthine. They'd occasionally behaved shockingly, getting into situations which Nathaniel preferred not to bring up, but which he knew they both remembered with a mixture of fondness, horror, embarrassment, and nostalgia. It was a bond between the sons of powerful men, young men of similar tastes and interests and backgrounds, with similar expectations placed on them.

“Rowan is my only family now,” Fergus said quietly. “I suppose I'll eventually have to marry again, beget some heirs, all of that, but right now, she and I are the only Couslands left. I know she neither needs nor wants my concern, but for my own peace of mind, I had to be sure. I had to know you were serious. I was incensed when I heard about the public humiliation Maric's bastard heaped on her. I cannot sit back and see her treated so poorly again.”

“I have promised her, and I will promise you, I will never forsake her.”

Fergus looked at him and nodded. “I'm satisfied that you understand the treasure she is and will treat her accordingly.”

“I do, and I will,” Nathaniel said with a half smile.

“I can't ask any more than that,” Fergus said with a grin. “Did you know she had a crush on you when she was young?”

Nathaniel frowned. “When was this?”

“Remember that tournament where I kept complaining that she was following us everywhere like a mabari puppy? She was still a girl, eleven, or maybe twelve.”

“I remember that,” Nathaniel answered. “That was the last tournament I attended in Highever, in fact. You and I were carrying on rather outrageously, as I recall, but I do remember you constantly grumbling that your little sister was always watching you. I expect that's why you lost our contest. You even had the home advantage, the dashing son of the local lord, all that, and yet I seem to recall I took the prize.”

“What prize?” Fergus scoffed. “Other than the pleasures of the contest, itself, anyway.”

“Ah, the thrill of the hunt,” Nathaniel said with a sigh, “and the art of seduction. And now, I find myself happily caught by the once-annoying little sister of the friend with whom I hunted.” Nathaniel shook his head. “Interesting. And strangely amusing. She didn't even set out to seduce me, nor I her, and yet, here we are.”

Fergus laughed. “Seems oddly appropriate.”

“So many things about my relationship with Rowan do. It's almost uncanny at times.”

“Like the Maker pre-ordained it and wrote it in the stars or some similarly romantic notion?”

“Something like that,” Nathaniel admitted with a smile.

“You're definitely in love with my sister. And she's your commander! I'm not sure if I should offer congratulations or condolences. She can be quite the handful. There are good reasons she was known as the Cousland spitfire, you know.”

“Oh, I definitely know. Well, my friend, now we get the pleasure of telling the Cousland spitfire, who is also Commander of the Grey and the Hero of Ferelden that we've sorted out her life for her,” Nathaniel commented dryly. “You can go first.”

 


	27. Wicked Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan, Nathaniel, her brother, and others play a lighthearted game of Wicked Grace. 
> 
> A bit of fun and some lighthearted character development.

Oghren was pleased to see Fergus, under whom the dwarf had served for a time in the Royal Army. The two of them seemed to have a good rapport, and they caught up with each other over ale as Fergus enjoyed dinner in the main dining hall with the rest of the household, the guards and soldiers, and the Grey Wardens of the Keep.

After dinner, someone suggested a game of Wicked Grace in honour of the Teyrn's visit, and Fergus convinced both Nathaniel and Rowan to join them. They ended up in the biggest of the recreation rooms, gathered around a large table. Rowan and Sigrun each had a goblet of spiced honey mead, while everyone else save Oghren were drinking Amaranthine dark ale. Oghren was making short work of dwarven ale, a gift from the King of Orzammar. Only Oghren and Sigrun would touch the stuff at all, since it was like liquified mouldy dirt with a nug piss aftertaste, but that was the way Oghren liked it and it was what Sigrun was used to.

The players were Anders, Sigrun, Fergus, Rowan, Nathaniel, Fergus' second, who was called Trey, one of the newly arrived Grey Warden warriors, a burly, bearded Free Marcher called Bron, and, to Rowan's surprise, Captain Garevel. Oghren wasn't playing, but he was sitting nearby with his tankard of ale, watching the game and offering bits of drunken wisdom and crude comments. And, much to Rowan's delight, Varel was apparently feeling strong enough to sit and watch, though he was drinking water and not alcohol.

“We need to do something about this room,” Rowan said to Nathaniel as she took a seat. “Add it to your list. Seems like it's mostly the curtains, though.”

“Curtains?” Sigrun asked, raising her eyebrows.

“You know I've put Nate in charge of the refurbishment and rebuilding of the Keep because he knows this place better than any of us. But we've got a bit of a problem. He informs me that he does not pick out curtains. That is, he's not interested in things like choosing the décor. Sigrun, might you have any thoughts on that?”

“You want me to help decorate?” Sigrun asked, sounding far more excited than she had in a while, her tattooed face lighting up. “Well, if it were up to me, I'd like to see this room in soft greens and browns. Something soothing, where you could wind down after a long day killing things or whatever. You know?”

“An excellent idea. Go around the Keep, take some notes, get some ideas, gather some measurements, and take it up with Nate when you're ready. I think the dining hall is okay, and the main hall is fine the way it is, but some of the other communal rooms could do with some perking up, and also that parlour on the second floor, you know the one? If you're interested, you could attend the next meeting with the builders, along with Nate. I'm sure he could use some help. That all right with you, Nate?”

Nathaniel nodded. “Of course, Commander.”

“You see this? Nobody calls me by my name any more,” she complained to the room in general. “Even he calls me Commander.”

“I'll call you by your name, Rowan,” Fergus offered. “Though I prefer to call you Pup.”

Everyone looked at each other and then started chuckling, giggling, and snickering at the nickname which hadn't suited her since she was about seven years old but which her father had called her right up until his death.

“Oh, thank you so much for that, Fergus,” she said with exaggerated annoyance and as straight a face as she could manage. “But no one will call me that, either, I'm quite certain. It's a shame Father never gave you a slightly embarrassing nickname, or I'd call you by that in front of everyone.”

“Well, who's dealing?” Nathaniel asked.

“Let's let our very illustrious guest, the mighty Teyrn of Highever, deal,” Rowan suggested.

Fergus snorted and picked up the deck of cards from the middle of the table and started to shuffle.

“Being a Grey Warden is not unlike playing Wicked Grace, actually,” Rowan commented. “You work with the cards you've got, and you do what you can and what you must to try to win.”

Her hand was moderate, but it had possibilities, depending on what she could pick up. “What are we playing for?”

“We always play for coin,” Anders said. “Two silver to open. Though we could play for clothes if you like.”

“Wicked, indeed!” Rowan answered with a laugh. “I lived in a travelling camp for a year or so, and any shyness I might have had is long gone –” Oghren's lewd chuckle interrupted her but she ignored it and continued, “but I am the Commander here and I should probably maintain at least some degree of dignity. Totally apart from my older brother being present and the fact that I don't especially want to see any of you lose your clothes, I think seeing me naked might detract from my oh-so-very-heroic image.”

“I wouldn't say that,” Nathaniel commented dryly.

Anders snorted. Oghren guffawed, slapping his knee. Sigrun giggled. Fergus just smiled and shook his head. Garevel snickered while trying not to do. Trey looked confused, and then embarrassed. Varel smirked but was otherwise unmoved. Rowan just sighed.

Bets were placed and the game began and it was was fast and furious, as Wicked Grace was meant to be played. Cards were played, cards were picked up, cards were discarded, and the trick was to keep track of all of your opponents' moves as well as your own. Nathaniel won the first hand. The deck passed to Trey to shuffle and deal.

“The first time I played Wicked Grace,” Rowan said as she picked up her cards, “it was with a pirate captain I met in a whorehouse in Denerim. I wanted her to teach me her fighting technique, but she insisted I play a game of Wicked Grace before she'd teach me. Well, she did have another offer, but I turned that down. Anyway, she cheated and I caught her at it, so she taught me what I wanted to know because I'd proven myself.”

“I've always wondered about your fighting style,” Nathaniel commented. “You learned it from a pirate you met in a whorehouse?”

“I did,” she answered with a grin. “Though it's taken some time to perfect it, and I'm still working on improvements. I can show you the basics some time if you want to learn it.”

“Dare I ask what my little sister was doing in a whorehouse?” Fergus inquired.

“Well, I'm sorry to have to disappoint with a boring answer, but my companions and I were there to eject some rowdy mercenaries on behalf of the city watch.”

“What was the pirate's other offer?” Anders asked.

“Oh, she wanted to bed me. She even invited... my associate to join us.”

Anders made a choking sound, and Oghren roared with laughter.

“Hah! I think I win this one,” Rowan said, playing her last card with a flourish.

“You told that story to distract us!” Sigrun accused.

“Indeed, I did,” Rowan admitted with a grin. “Though it is a true story.”

“A pirate captain offered you a threesome?” Anders asked. “Really?”

“Really,” Rowan said, taking the cards and shuffling. “Though, as I said, I turned it down.”

“I don't understand. _Why_ would you turn down an offer like that?” Anders wanted to know, and Rowan just laughed and shook her head as she dealt.

“You're full of surprises,” Nathaniel commented, and she winked at him.

“Oh, I have lots of interesting stories to distract you,” Rowan said with a chuckle. “Like I said, Grey Wardens do what we must to win. If that means telling slightly off-colour true stories as a distraction, or even cheating, well, so be it.”  
  
“Cheating? Are you cheating?” Fergus asked suspiciously.

“Not if you didn't catch me at it,” Rowan answered mischievously.

Nathaniel had never seen her like this. She was utterly charming and her green eyes sparkled as she regaled the table with stories of her adventures, while, probably not coincidentally, winning much of the time. Oghren had said she was once full of life, and if this was what the dwarf had been referring to, Nathaniel could understand his concern. This captivating, laughing, playful woman was worlds away from the grimly determined, duty-driven Commander of the Grey Nathaniel had first met.

He decided then and there that it would be his life's work to make her as happy as possible, to keep her as close to this version of herself as he could. Duty was all well and good, and he absolutely supported her in that, but if it was in his power to keep her from slipping back into the stone-faced, exhausted woman who rarely smiled and kept herself distracted with her work, he would do it. He would distract her, encourage her to express her grief so it would heal, pamper her, whatever he could think of, whatever she would accept from him.

He glanced around the table and found that Garevel, somewhat unsurprisingly, seemed to be enraptured. Fergus' man, Trey, was so captivated he could hardly hold his cards. The Grey Warden, Bron, was watching her with a guarded expression, but he was definitely watching her and seemed fascinated. Nathaniel smirked and felt exceptionally smug about being the one man in the room who was going to take this delightful woman to bed.

He was also pleased now that he'd made the joke about seeing her naked. He hadn't really thought about it in the moment, and worried after that it would undermine her, but it had simply served to mark his territory quite effectively in a non-threatening way, and made her look a little more human, which he knew she wanted.

They played for some time. Oghren offered comments from time to time, generally dirty ones, but also sometimes embellishing Rowan's stories, as he'd been present for some of the events she mentioned. Nathaniel refilled her goblet twice. Rowan wasn't paying much attention.

She never mentioned Alistair by name, nor anything else specific about him, but Nathaniel noted that she did refer to him a couple of times and she seemed to be able to do so without being overcome by pain and anger. She was making progress, and in a relatively short period of time. Nathaniel couldn't help but be glad to see that, and he was even more happy to know he'd had a hand in it.

Eventually, Rowan put the deck of cards down when they passed to her, and she started to put the pile of coins she'd won into her pouch, saying, “I think I should quit while I'm ahead.”

“Oh, fine, Pup,” Fergus said with mock annoyance. “Take all our money and don't give us a chance to win it back.”

“I'll give you another chance if you come and visit us again, but the mead seems to have gone to my head,” she laughed. “I think I'll go to bed before I start to lose.”

“Lightweight,” Oghren chuckled. “Or maybe it's not the mead and you're just looking for an excuse to go play rattle-the-axe-head with Howe.”

“I don't need any excuses,” Rowan grinned and pushed back her chair and stood up, slightly unsteadily. Nathaniel was on his feet instantly with a steadying hand on her waist. Once he was satisfied she wasn't going to topple over, Nathaniel stuffed his coins into his pouch and looped the ties of it on his belt before he slipped an arm around Rowan's waist.

“Good night,” Nathaniel said to the room, in general. “Have fun.”

“Yeah, you, too,” Anders said suggestively, and Oghren just gave one of his obscene giggles.

“I'll see both of you tomorrow,” Fergus said.

There was a general chorus of _good nights_ as Nathaniel guided Rowan gently by her elbow.

“I'm not actually drunk, you know,” Rowan protested as they made their way upstairs. “I'm just a little tipsy is all.”

Nathaniel guided her into their darkened room, shut the door, and started undressing her in the golden light of the fire that was crackling in the hearth. Ser Barkley raised his head when they came in, but then lay down again and shut his eyes.

“When was the last time you were drunk?” Nathaniel asked.

“Uhh... Oh. Yes. I was actually really, really drunk. I'm told Sten had to carry me to bed.” She sighed deeply.

“Ah. I'm guessing by your reaction and tone of voice that this has to do with the fool, so probably after the fateful Landsmeet, yes? And please remind me, who's Sten?”

“Yeah, that fucking Landsmeet,” she muttered. Then she deepened her voice and tried to sound serious when she said, “Sten of the Beresaad.” She gave up on the attempt at a deep voice. “Qunari warrior. Huge man, very grave, very serious, very fixed ideas about a lot of things. Kind heart, though, under it all. And a sweet tooth.”

“So the bastard fool left you, got himself exiled, and you got so drunk you had to have a Qunari warrior carry you to bed?”

“Yes, that's about the size of it, though to be precise, the bastard actually got himself sentenced to execution. I got Anora to relent on that, but the best I could get him was exile. If Alistair had been willing to stay with the Wardens, she probably would have just made him publicly give up his claim to the throne or something. I understand that Wynne... Do you remember the elderly mage we met outside the chantry in Amaranthine? That was Wynne. Anyway, I understand Wynne actually undressed me that night. I don't remember any of it past a certain point, but I woke up in my small clothes in a bed at Arl Eamon's Denerim estate with an absolutely horrific hangover. Was never that drunk before that, haven't been since.”

“And did it help?”

“No. I still felt awful, and the hangover just made it worse. That's why I didn't take up drinking all the time the way Oghren does. It seems to work for him, but I don't think it would work for me.”

Rowan was naked now, and Nathaniel pulled back the covers and took her by the shoulders and sat her down on the bed while he undressed himself in the firelight.

“I know something that does help,” Rowan said, wriggling between the sheets and moving over to make room for him.

“Oh, yes? And what would that be, then?” Nathaniel asked as he slid into the bed beside her and pulled the covers over both of them.

“You,” she said quietly, snuggling up to him and twining her fingers into his chest hair with a contented sigh.

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her on the forehead. He'd never really felt he belonged anywhere, but he knew now that he belonged with her.

“That, my love, is entirely mutual.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rules of Wicked Grace are something of a mystery. I based this on the description on the Dragon Age Wiki, which sounds more like some form of rummy or trumps, whereas in DA:I, it looks much more like poker. Since Isabela really does use Wicked Grace as a test of your dexterity, I thought it was probably more like the former than the latter. :)


	28. Good Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel and Rowan have an early morning chat in their comfy, warm bed. 
> 
> Romantic, emotional, warm, fluffystuff. Awww. (Some sexual references toward the end, but only references and nothing explicit.)

Rowan woke early, as she generally did, and found she rather desperately need to relieve her bladder. She got out of bed as quietly and gently as she could, grabbed her favourite dressing gown, and ducked out into the hall to the communal privy, Ser Barkley following into the corridor and then trotting off downstairs to be let outside by a staff member.

She'd been good and tipsy the night before, and the way the room had been gently spinning had been annoying. She'd fallen asleep rather quickly, curled up next to Nathaniel, who had very sweetly undressed her and put her to bed, and made no sexual overtures whatsoever. She wondered if it was because she'd been tipsy, or that she'd fallen asleep almost immediately, or some combination of those things. He could have easily had his way if he'd asked or made a move, and she would have been entirely willing, despite the spinning room, but he hadn't. For some reason, she found that strangely reassuring. Comforting, even.

When she returned, Rowan shut the door behind her, shed her dressing gown and slipped back into bed with Nathaniel, who was lying on his side facing her. She cuddled up with her back to his chest, curling her legs around his and snuggling her bottom somewhere in the vicinity of his groin.

“Your feet are like ice,” he grumbled, and she giggled.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you.”

“Don't apologise, you know I'm a light sleeper. I woke up when you got out of bed, even if you were being quiet about it. How are you feeling?”

“I feel fine. Why?”

“Oghren said you tended to throw up and get a hangover when you drink.”

“How many times do I have to remind you that Oghren exaggerates? And, anyway, I didn't drink that much,” she protested. “I was feeling it, but I didn't drink enough to make me sick or give me a hangover.”

“Stay put, sweetheart. I'll be right back,” he said before he hopped out of the bed, grabbed her dressing gown and threw it on, and went off down the hall.

“Don't you have a dressing gown of your own?” she asked when he returned. “No, I don't suppose you have. I've never seen you wear one, anyway.”

He tossed the dressing gown on a chair and got back into the bed with her, curling up to her back but taking care to put his feet, cold from the stone floors, on her legs, making her laugh.

“Until recently, I haven't really needed one,” he said with a shrug.

Rowan turned over and snuggled up facing him and sighed with contentment. These private, warm, intimate moments made her feel... whole. She didn't think about being tainted, or about broodmothers, or about archdemons. She didn't think about Alistair or Rory or her parents or any of the other painful losses she'd had to deal with in recent years. Her senses and her thoughts were filled with Nathaniel, warm and close, the delicious scent of his skin, the sound of his breathing in her ears, the steady thump of his heart in his chest.

These were the moments that made her life as a Grey Warden so much more tolerable. Sure, she would eventually die somewhere in the Deep Roads when she was overcome by the corruption that tied her forever to the darkspawn and which even now poisoned her blood, every beat of her heart pushing her closer to madness and to her Calling, but for now, for right now, all was right in her world. She was warm and safe and comfortable and satisfied.

Take your pleasure where you find it, such had been the advice of her friend, Zevran, and he was so very right.

“You were quite the charmer last night,” Nathaniel commented after a while. “You had most of the room enraptured.”

“I do have some good stories.”

“It's not just that. You're naturally charismatic. You have many admirers, you know.”

“Oh, you know Oghren is all talk,” she answered.

“I meant Garevel, but he's not the only one. That knight your brother brought with him, Trey, is it? He was quite taken with you. And the new Warden, the one Weisshaupt sent, uh, Bron. And there's Anders, of course...”

“Hmmm. Jealous?”

“Not jealous, no. I'm territorial. You've said so, yourself.”

“Wait, Garevel? What are you talking about?”

Nathaniel laughed. “You really don't notice, do you?”

“Uhh... No. I've had suitors and admirers of all sorts from the time I started to become a woman. It got tiresome fairly quickly, especially since so much of it was just courtly blather and compliments because I was a political prize to be won. I just started to ignore it, I suppose. Smile and nod and take none of it seriously. The only time I really pay much attention to that kind of interest is when I have some reason to do so. Or if I'm already interested.”

“Well, Garevel has always had eyes for you. In fact, the night you had the formal meeting with the banns and freeholders to receive oaths of fealty, he could hardly keep his eyes off you. Not that I can blame him. You were stunning in that green gown. Honestly, you've never noticed the way he looks at you?”

“Errr... no. I will _now_ , though... Maker's breath. That's awkward.”

“Don't worry, he knows the boundaries. He's not going to act on his admiration, though he would have at one time, if you'd given him any encouragement at all.”

“Huh,” she said, still mulling it over.

“Tell me something. I've always wondered why you and Anders were never more than friends. You certainly noticed his attention, and you clearly like each other. He's always fancied you. And I've seen the way you flirt with each other. In fact, I thought at first that you two actually were lovers by the way you carried on. Something about holding it for him when he relieved himself in the woods, as I recall.”

Rowan laughed. “Oh, I remember that! Honestly, you couldn't tell it was just playful, if quite rude, banter?”

“I know that now, yes, but I didn't at the time. In fact, at that time I didn't know that the Grey Wardens don't really have any rules against fraternisation, and I thought you were carrying on most unprofessionally with someone under your command.”

“Perish the thought.”

“So long as it's me you carry on with, I have no objections,” he said, and Rowan bit him on the shoulder playfully.

“I've told you this before. Anders fancies a lot of people,” she pointed out, “and he'll flirt with just about anyone. You could have him if you wanted. You know that right? He also fancied Velanna and probably Sigrun and he's been carrying on with one of the scullery maids and at least one member of the guard, and there may be others I haven't noticed.”

“So he's... too flirty?”

“It's not that. At first, he reminded me a little too much of Alistair. Blonde hair, similar sense of humour, brown eyes, prominent nose... Later, after talking to him a fair bit and getting to know him, I felt like he was a flight risk. He has asked certain questions and said certain things that lead me to think that the moment he feels like he's too... constricted... he'll run away from the Grey Wardens like he kept doing from the Circle.”

Nathaniel rubbed his hand down her back and pulled her a little closer, as if he was reminding her that he was not going anywhere.

“You can't just stop being a Grey Warden,” he said.

“You can't stop being tainted, no. But you can stop doing your duty as a Warden. Alistair proved that, but I'm sure he's not the first to do it. Wardens go missing all the time. Most of them fall in battle or to the Calling, but I'm sure some of them just decided they didn't want to serve as Grey Wardens any more. Anyway, Anders was not for me, though I do care for him very much.” She was quiet for a bit and then asked, “Speaking of disappearing Wardens, do you miss Velanna?”

“Maybe a little, but not not over much. Should I?”

“Well, you used to flirt with her quite a lot. She seemed to be warming to you, as well. And then after she disappeared, you were brooding. I thought perhaps it was was losing her that was making you so moody.”

“Sweetheart, is that what you thought? I'm sorry. No, it was nothing to do with Velanna. In fact, I was badly shaken by nearly losing _you_ to that broodmother. I'm not ashamed to admit that it shocked and frightened me. When you went down in that battle, I was furious, but I was also terrified, and I didn't even fully understand why. It just took me a while to come to terms with my own reactions. The thought of losing you... And the strangest part is that I still didn't realise what was happening until you asked me if I'd ever been in love.”

“Oh,” she said quietly.

“As for me flirting with Velanna,” Nathaniel explained, “I will admit that I did think she was pretty, but I mostly told her that to see how see how she'd react. She was so easy to fluster, and it was a bit amusing to ruffle her self-important feathers, especially since our very first conversation opened with her goading me, and about my father's death, no less. I was hoping she might get over herself a little and become somewhat easier to be around. I suppose it doesn't matter now.”

Rowan was quiet for a time.

“It just occurred to me... that thing you said about Garevel, the night that the banns came to pledge their fealty. How do you know what went on?”

“Because I was there, of course. I was off to the side in the shadows, keeping an eye on the proceedings and on the guests. I didn't think anyone would be so stupid or so bold as to try anything in a gathering like that, but I wanted to watch your back. And in that dress, your front, just like most everyone else in the room that night. Maker's breath, Rowan, you were gorgeous. More gorgeous than usual, I mean. You should wear corsets more often, by the way.”

“Oh? Why is that?” she asked playfully.

“For one thing, it would improve your posture when you're not wearing armour. You slump when you sit, and don't argue, because you know it's true. But for another, I believe I'd quite like undressing you down to stockings and a corset, preferably without any knickers to contend with.”

“I see. I shall take this suggestion from my trusted lieutenant under advisement. But for now, we could go down to get an early breakfast or, if you're interested, we could stay here in this nice, warm, comfortable bed for a little while longer. I mean... if you're up to it...”

She rubbed her leg over his and arched her back so she was pressed against him suggestively.

“How could I turn down that kind of invitation from such a charming, saucy, insatiable minx?”

Nathaniel started to move his hands over her skin, touching and stroking, following the curves of her body. Rowan sighed and then moaned as arousal started to pool between her legs. He kissed her, and she closed her eyes as she responded eagerly to his mouth, and once more let herself get lost in the pleasures of being with him.

Breakfast, and the Teyrn of Highever, could wait.

 


	29. Brotherly Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fergus spends the day with Rowan and Nathaniel.
> 
> Mostly exposition, some bits of the game-story, and a decent amount of emotional stuff.

After the pleasant evening spent playing Wicked Grace, the Teyrn of Highever decided he would stay another day, and spend some more time with his sister while renewing his acquaintance with Nathaniel. Fergus no longer had any concerns there. He knew Nathaniel to be a man who spoke his mind, and he'd confessed rather more than Fergus had expected. Too, Fergus had seen on the previous evening how Rowan and Nathaniel were with each other, when Rowan was entertaining one and all with her stories and winning everyone's money.

Fergus was just finishing his breakfast in the dining hall when Rowan and Nathaniel wandered in, smiling at each other. They weren't engaging in any particularly overt displays of affection, but Fergus could see how attuned they were to one another. He recognised the body language and the looks on their faces, and he could easily guess why they were somewhat late to breakfast.

His heart constricted painfully, thinking of all the times he and Oriana had turned up late for the morning meal, indeed, for many meals, glowing the way Nathaniel and Rowan were, only to have Fergus' parents smirk and exchange affectionate glances. Maker, he missed them all, but, of course, he missed Oriana the most profoundly.

Rowan saw him and gave him a smile. Fergus raised one eyebrow. Rowan winked and grinned. Fergus shook his head. Saucy minx.

“Stay,” she called out to him. “We'll join you. You can have another cup of tea while we eat, and then we'll go adventuring.”

Fergus got up to fetch himself more tea and then resumed his seat. Nathaniel sat across from him. Rowan plopped down to her brother's right and leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Good morning,” she said warmly. “It's been ages since we had breakfast together.”

“We're not having breakfast together,” Fergus pointed out. “I've had mine. You were late.”

She chuckled but didn't say any more on the topic of why she was late. Fergus just smiled and glanced at Nathaniel. Dallying in a warm bed with one's lover was surely one of life's greatest pleasures, one Fergus sorely missed. He certainly wouldn't begrudge his sister that comfort. Or his friend, for that matter.

They chatted pleasantly about random and mundane things as Fergus sipped his tea and Rowan and Nathaniel ate. Several of his men were at the table, but they didn't participate in the conversation. Nathaniel, too, was quiet, at least until the topic of Vigil's Keep came up, and then he was happy to volunteer information on the fortifications and planned improvements.

“I'm afraid my father let the place go to the Void,” Nathaniel said sadly. “I don't know what he was spending my mother's fortune on, but it certainly wasn't maintenance of the family seat.”

“So you're overseeing the rebuilding?” Fergus asked.

Nathaniel nodded. “And mapping the cellars and basements and random tunnels, partly to actually have maps, and partially to see which areas need to be repaired and reinforced or sealed off completely, although I don't go on every mapping expedition. So far, we've mapped the section that led to an ancient Dwarven outpost and eventually to the Deep Roads, a very ancient temple that was probably Avvar or Alamarri, and a pre-Andrastian Avvar burial chamber, none of which I knew about, certainly. Those will all be sealed off completely after proper documentation. The burial chamber seems to be fine now, but there were some... disturbances when it was first investigated. Best to let them rest in peace. And, of course, any means into the Deep Roads is a way for darkspawn to get to the surface, so...”

“Maker's breath, no wonder your mother told us to keep out of the cellars!” Fergus said with a shake of his head.

“Oh, I don't think she knew any of that was down there, though she must have known there were strange things below. I suspect a lot of people knew things weren't quite right, but nobody knew the whole of it. And there were a few areas we were allowed to use, when we were older, like the wine cellar and the armoury. Do you want a tour? We can show you some of the oddities that lie below our feet.”

“Yes, please,” Fergus answered, and Nathaniel nodded.

So Nathaniel and Rowan took Fergus into the cellars, including a somewhat joking commentary on the cell where Nathaniel was held when Rowan arrived to take over as Warden-Commander. That they could laugh about it was a good thing, but it seemed they shared a peculiarly dark and sometimes twisted sense of humour that Fergus didn't recall either of them having. Perhaps it was a quality they developed from the stress of being Grey Wardens.

Fergus marvelled at the ancient dwarven construction, some of which was still accessible, even though the entrance to the Deep Roads had been sealed off. The Avaar burial chamber was less exciting than it sounded, until he heard the story of the powerful, dark spirit that had inhabited the place and how they'd had to chase it down and destroy it.

After dinner, Fergus asked Rowan and Nathaniel to speak with him privately, so they retired to the second floor parlour to talk.

“I've been watching the two of you, and listening to how you talk to each other, and about each other,” he began. “I have to say, I'm entirely convinced of the... authenticity of your relationship. You seem very much in accord with each other. I have to admit, knowing you both, I had thought it was probably mostly a sexual attraction. I would like to offer you both an apology for that assumption. I can see that there is much more to it than that.”

“You don't have to apologise,” Rowan said.

“I know I don't have to, Pup. I want to. I also would like to extend my blessing, though I am fully aware than you neither need nor want it.”

“You're my brother. I love you. Of course I _want_ your blessing. But you're right that I don't need it,” Rowan answered cheekily. “And, of course, I would have continued doing exactly as I please without your approval. I do appreciate the gesture, though.”

Nathaniel smirked but remained silent, seated beside Rowan with his arm stretched out across the back of the couch behind her in an open gesture of affection.

“Defiant as ever,” Fergus retorted. “I'm glad to see that much hasn't changed with everything you've been through.”

“Oh, I'm the infamous Cousland spitfire, don't you know? I was... staggered for a while, I have to admit. I'm finding my feet again now.”

Fergus nodded. “Nathaniel is part of that, I suspect. But, whatever the situation, I'm happy for you. You, too, Nate.”

"Thank you, Fergus,” Nathaniel answered. “Will you be visiting us here again any time soon?”

“Probably not soon, but I would like to visit again. Perhaps for hunting season? Both of you are always welcome at Highever Castle, of course.”

“I know. I... will consider it,” Rowan said, her voice breaking. “It's... there are a lot of memories. Perhaps one day.”

Fergus nodded. “I understand. It was difficult for me to return there, as well. The castle was so empty...”

He stood up and stepped out from behind the low table and held his arms out to his sister.

“No armour now,” she said with a smile as she stepped into her brother's embrace, and Fergus pulled her close and held her tightly to his chest. He didn't let go, nor did she. Tears eventually rolled down her cheeks, and Fergus buried his face in her hair to hide his own emotion. They didn't say anything, but they shared something deep, almost tangible, and very healing.

Eventually, Fergus released her, and dragged a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe her face, and then his own. Nathaniel said nothing, and was politely looking at a faded tapestry so as not to intrude.

“Nate, my friend, come here,” Fergus said, holding out a hand. “I suppose you'll eventually be my brother-in-law, if you can convince the minx to marry you.”

Nathaniel laughed and stood up to take Fergus' hand. Fergus dragged him into a rough, playful hug.

“Planning my life again?” Rowan asked, folding her arms over her chest.

“Not at all,” Fergus grinned. “I just think you should marry him. You're picky. You're not likely to get any other offers you'll accept. And if you let me know when you want that wedding, I'll turn up to hand my sister over once and for all.”

Rowan blinked at him. He looked back at her with raised eyebrows. Then all three of them burst out laughing.

“What was it Mother said?” Rowan said. “It's like being surrounded by small boys.”

“For what it's worth, our parents always liked Nathaniel. Then again, they might not have if they'd known what the two of us got up to...”

Rowan shook her head and smiled. “Oh, I think they knew more than they let on. Shall I leave you two alone to reminisce about your misspent youth and how much wine you drank and how many skirts you managed to lift?”

“That was a long time ago,” Nathaniel said with a smile. “Yours is the only skirt I'm interested in now, and you generally lift it yourself.”

Fergus coughed. “That's quite enough of that, thank you. I know I brought this on myself by interfering in the first place, but there has always been a line drawn, and I really do not want to hear or imagine... intimate details. I'll be leaving early, so if I don't see you in the morning, let's let this be a pleasant parting in which I do not have to listen to your love banter. Go on, go to your room, both of you, and keep the door shut. I've heard about... Let's just say that when Oghren served with my regiment, I heard a few stories about his time travelling with Rowan. Something about how she and the bastard prince kept the camp awake half the night, every night.”

“I keep telling people, Oghren exaggerates,” Rowan said with a laugh.

Then she took Fergus' face in her hands and pulled his head down so she could press her forehead to his. “I love you, Fergus. I probably haven't said that enough.”

“I love you, too, Pup. And I'm very proud of you. And happy for you.”

“Good night, Fergus,” Nathaniel said as Rowan released her grip on her brother and moved to her lover's side. “It was good to see you.”

“And you,” Fergus returned. “Have a good night, both of you.”

 

 


	30. Warden Recruits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan ruminates over potential Grey Warden recruits. 
> 
> After all the fluff and romance, back to some actual story. There's a tiny little sexual reference at the very end but that's it for the sexy stuff.

Nathaniel and Rowan were both sitting on their bed, backs to the headboard, looking over notes and documents. Nathaniel's long legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, while Rowan was sitting tailor style beside him.

Oghren had come to Rowan with a very short list of potential Wardens from the volunteers and recruits who were starting to turn up at Vigil's Keep looking to join up. Some simply wanted to serve in the arling's garrison. Some had their hopes set on being Grey Wardens. During the crisis in Amaranthine, Rowan had been willing to take on just about anyone, but now she was not as inclined to do that. The life of a Warden was not for everyone, and she wanted to be as sure as she could be that anyone who stepped into it did so with few reservations. It was certainly a no-turning-back sort of thing, what with deliberately taking on darkspawn taint and eventually turning into a ghoul and going mad hearing the song of an archedmon calling you to the Deep Roads and all. The Joining was the end of whatever life you had before. For some people, this was a good thing, but not for most.

Rowan looked over the list and the notes she'd made during her interviews with the potential Grey Wardens. In the end, there were only three who seemed like good candidates.

One was a newly arrived warrior who called himself Baker and said that he was from South Reach. He was tanned and freckled from the sun, with golden brown hair that fell into his blue eyes, making him toss his head frequently. Baker was close-mouthed about his background, but Rowan had the impression he'd lost family to the darkspawn as they overran the south. Baker certainly appeared to harbour a burning hatred for darkspawn, and he was a capable warrior who appeared to understand the nature of Grey Wardens and their mission, as well as the dangers involved. Rowan was very much inclined to have him take the Joining.

The second good candidate was a rogue from Denerim, a young man called Reve, with olive skin and dark eyes and hair, who had lived through the Battle of Denerim and then spent the time since in a state of semi-shock until he decided he wanted to do something to protect people from the kind of devastation that had taken large parts of the capital city. Despite having a Ferelden accent, he claimed his parentage was Rivaini and Antivan, and that he had no family, no close ties, and nothing to lose. He had a sharp wit and a good deal of cunning, and he was quick with his blades, a dagger in each hand. Rowan did make it clear that the Joining was dangerous, and that there was no turning back once he'd agreed to receive it, but he didn't seem bothered by that. He would probably make a fine Warden, though Maker knew, they had plenty of rogues already.

“There were three of us at my Joining,” Rowan mused aloud to Nathaniel, who was going over some of the documents regarding the restoration of the Keep. “I was the only survivor. One was a rogue named Daveth from somewhere in the south, maybe Lothering, but he had been conscripted in Denerim, where he was wanted for various criminal offences. He was cheeky and bold, and I quite liked him. He also really seemed to understand what it was to be a Grey Warden. It's a pity he didn't make it.”

Daveth had made it clear that he was not afraid to give his life if it meant stopping the Blight. Alistair had stated openly that he didn't know what Duncan saw in the cutpurse, but Rowan absolutely did. She sometimes wondered what Alistair would say if he knew Duncan had, himself, been a thief before his own conscription into the Grey Wardens, and that he had come to the attention of the order when he murdered a Warden in a robbery attempt, facts she'd learned from the documents Weisshaupt had sent. Alistair's view of the Wardens was terribly idealistic, and his image of Duncan was even more so. She wondered idly if Alistair would have been able to really take knowing more or if he would have cracked, the same way he did at the Landsmeet.

“What about the other?” Nathaniel asked.

“Ser Jory, a knight from Redcliffe, though he had a pregnant wife in Highever. He was apparently recruited at a tournament, and he was something of a glory seeker, which is never a good quality in a Warden. He was also cautious to the point of sometimes appearing cowardly. I don't think he really was a coward, but he had far too much to lose to make a good Warden. I can't imagine why Duncan recruited him, other than a growing sense of desperation, which, unfortunately, I can understand all too well. In the end, Jory's reluctance to give up his former life was what led to his death.”

“What do you mean?” Nathaniel asked with a frown.

“After Daveth died during the Joining, Jory was very badly shaken. He kept going on about his wife and the child she was carrying and how it was all so very unfair and had he known he never would have gone along with it. I couldn't really blame him, to be honest, but then he pulled a sword on Duncan and Duncan... defended himself, to the death. It's not something I'll ever forget, and I hope I never, ever have cause to kill a recruit like that. This is why I think somewhat more disclosure is necessary before they're allowed to attempt the Joining. I know the Chantry wouldn't look favourably on the Joining ritual for a lot of reasons, so it's best to keep the specific details quiet, but candidates need to know that this is the end of the life they had, and that it may be the end of their life, full stop. Duncan did try to communicate that, but... Well. I don't want to criticise my predecessor too harshly, but I do question his judgement in some things, and I can try to learn from his mistakes.”

Rowan blamed Duncan for a lot of things, actually. He'd never told Alistair why a Grey Warden was necessary to kill an archdemon, nor had he shared the information that the Grey Warden who kills the archdemon would perish for doing so. If Alistair had that information before the infamous Landsmeet, perhaps he would have stayed.

Alistair, like any new Warden, had questions after his Joining. Apparently, Duncan's response to most of them had been the unhelpful and non-committal, _you'll see_. He had also failed to make Alistair understand a lot of other important things, especially the part about how a Grey Warden's duties had to take precedence over everything else, including vengeance. Rowan had gotten that speech from Duncan while standing over her dying father, after her family and household had been murdered. Alistair had apparently never gotten the speech at all.

Rowan still wondered what secrets Duncan had taken to his grave. She had some of his notes and journals and some Weisshaupt records that had to do with him, but while she had learned a lot of things, she hadn't discovered any deep secrets, and she knew in her heart that Duncan had kept a great many.

She sighed and rubbed her forehead tiredly. Ruminations about Duncan and his secretive ways would change nothing now. Duncan was dead, both Jory and Daveth were dead, Alistair was gone, Senior Warden Riordan had died in the Battle of Denerim, and until and unless Weisshaupt sent her the more sensitive documents she'd requested, she wouldn't know much more than she already did.

“What happened to Jory's wife? Do you know?”

Rowan shook her head. “I've asked Fergus to look into it, but I haven't heard anything. Highever was under the control of your father for most of the war, and from what I heard, there was a great deal of resentment and a lot of the people of Highever fled, so she may have gone elsewhere. I hope she didn't go to Redcliffe or to Denerim...”

Rowan looked at the paper she had in her hands, and skimmed the notes she'd made again.

“What do you think of the templar, Ser Rolan?” Rowan asked.

“He's an excellent warrior,” Nathaniel commented. “He also has the kind of background that makes for a good Warden.”

Rolan's story was that he was a foundling, raised in the Chantry from infancy by the holy sisters, and had become a templar squire when he started to show a natural talent for marital skills. Before the Blight, he had served in a village far to the south, apparently more as a peace keeper than as a mage hunter, though, officially, rural templars were to be on hand to seek out and deal with hedge mages and other apostates if called upon to do so. When the village was overrun by darkspawn, the people had fled, and Rolan was separated from his fellows in the chaos. He claimed to have wandered aimlessly for some time before eventually making his way across the Bannorn to Denerim, where he served for a time before and during the final battle that ravaged the city. When it was over, he had been deeply shocked and traumatised, his faith profoundly shaken, until he felt a calling to serve the Maker not as a templar, but as a Grey Warden.

“I've seen first hand that a templar's special abilities can be extremely useful when fighting darkspawn,” Rowan conceded. “One concern with him is the lyrium addiction. I've seen a case of lyrium withdrawal madness, and it was horrible. I'm also told that stopping lyrium can be fatal. So it would seem that if we accept Ser Rolan, or any other templars for that matter, we'll have to have an appropriate supply of good quality lyrium, rather than the happenstance way we acquire it now. Since the Chantry controls the legal lyrium trade, it would have to go through smugglers, because I don't want any more entanglements with the Chantry if I can possibly avoid it.”

“You could arrange that?”

“I do have connections in Orzammar,” Rowan answered. “I'm sure I could get an appropriate supply of lyrium if need be. If we can manage to recruit more mages, we'll need it for them, too, though it's not as vital for them as it is for templars.”

Nathaniel nodded but didn't inquire further. Rowan would have trusted him with the whole story, of course, but he didn't ask and she felt no need to elaborate.

“Will the Chantry try to interfere if you make him a Grey Warden?” Nathaniel asked.

“I doubt it. From what I understand, templars are free to leave the Order as they will. Most of them stay, of course, because of the lyrium leash. Rather insidious, really.”

Nathaniel snorted. “Is it better or worse than deliberately infecting recruits with darkspawn taint?”

“Point taken. You'd think that after a thousand years or so, someone would have found some better way of handling darkspawn and the Blight, wouldn't you?”

“Well, if it helps, my opinion is that Rolan would be an asset to the Grey Wardens,” Nathaniel commented, “and I think he could make a decent life for himself within the order. But, as you say, there are special arrangements to be considered. Ultimately, it's up to you.”

“It always is,” she answered somewhat ruefully. “You know, I never used to be so indecisive. I just decided and went with it. I never used to sit around mulling over every decision, considering if there were long term, negative consequences, worrying what ripples I was going to make in the pond and what effect the ripples would have on the future and... Ugh. Is this what it's like in your head when you go all thinky-broody?”

Nathaniel chuckled. “Not exactly.”

“I suppose I shouldn't be so picky. Rolan has everything we look for in a Warden. I don't know why I'm hesitating. Maybe I've just had too many troublesome dealings with templars.”

Rowan was specifically thinking of the small group of fanatical templars who had tried to capture Anders, even knowing he had been rightfully conscripted into the Grey Wardens with the full knowledge and consent of the Queen of Ferelden.

The overzealous and apparently obsessive templar who had set up that trap insisted that neither the Wardens nor the Queen had the authority to allow Anders to be conscripted, which was demonstrably untrue. Wardens had, by ancient treaty and centuries of custom, the absolute right to conscript anyone they wanted, from prince to guttersnipe. Even the Chantry acknowledged this right, and when Rowan had sent an irate missive to Knight-Commander Gregoir about the situation with Anders, Gregoir had apologised unreservedly and assured Rowan that the templars in question were acting outside of their authority and on their own agenda.

Rowan had also had dealings with templars at the Ferelden Circle. After the uprising there, Knight-Commander Gregoir had intended to annul the Circle, which was to say, to kill each and every mage within, from the child apprentices on through to the First Enchanter. Every mage, put to the blade. Fortunately for the mages, Rowan and her small company had managed to do what the templars of the Circle, most of whom were ensnared by demons or dead, could not, cleansing the tower of demons and abominations while still managing to save the First Enchanter.

In the process, they had encountered one particularly traumatised young templar who had also insisted that every mage should be slain, lest any of them were somehow secretly infested with demons. Rowan couldn't really blame the man, given the torture he had apparently endured, but it was unnerving nonetheless, and had she not intervened, the Knight-Commander would almost certainly have done it, even with the First Enchanter standing there telling him things were under control.

So, while she had, indeed, met helpful, kind, decent templars, Rowan was deeply wary of them on the whole. Even Alistair, the not-quite-templar who had not wanted to be a templar at all and never took his final vows, had sometimes expressed troubling attitudes that Rowan knew were directly because of his extensive training and education in the order. Overzealousness and fanaticism seemed to be part and parcel of the templar indoctrination.

“I'm probably overthinking this,” Rowan said finally with a deep sigh.

“You might be,” Nathaniel answered diplomatically, reaching out to put his hand on her knee. “Perhaps you could use a break. A walk on the battlements, perhaps? Something to eat? Hot bath? Time on the training field? Or you could just get your knickers off and let me distract you with something wicked and intimate.”

“Maker's breath,” she groaned as she set aside her notes and started to get undressed.

 


	31. This Bird Has Flown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anders flies the coop.

Rowan was seated at the desk the next day, writing in her recruitment journal about her latest interview with Rolan the ex-templar, when Anders stormed into the room, bits of blue, magical, electric static swirling and flying all around him like an angry snowfall in a breeze. In the cloth satchel Anders had slung across his shoulder, there was a bundle of wriggling, meowing tom cat, which just added to the chaos.

“How could you do this?!” Anders demanded. Rowan put the pen down and capped the ink and then turned to the irate mage, careful to maintain a cool exterior. She was actually quite alarmed, but refused to show it.

“What have I done?” she asked calmly.

“The Chantry got to you, didn't they?” Anders accused. “They pressured you until you agreed to let that templar come here and watch me. You're going to let him take the Joining and become a Grey Warden so he can watch me!”

For the first time, Rowan felt threatened by Anders. She'd always been comfortable around him, she trusted him, but right now she was deeply unnerved. Something was deeply wrong, but she had no idea what it was. Rowan was absolutely determined she was not going to give in to her discomfort nor allow him see it.

“Maker's breath, Anders, no. No, there was no Chantry involvement, and if there were, I would tell them where they could stick their demands. You must know this. Why would you even think I would I agree to having someone come into the ranks of my command to watch you? You've been an excellent Grey Warden the entire time I've known you, even with as much as you hate the Deep Roads.”

“What story did the templar give you, then?” Anders wanted to know. He was still very agitated, but slightly less violently so, and the blue sparks were decreasing. Ser Pounce-a-Lot was still meowing in the bag, though he wasn't squirming as much. “Don't you remember that the Chantry sent templars to Amaranthine to trap me, even when they had no right? They're just getting sneakier!”

“I remember that incident all too well,” Rowan replied grimly. “It has weighed heavily on my mind since it happened. Don't you remember what happened to those templars? The woman, what was her name? Rylock? She was clearly obsessed with you, and she and her associates ended up quite dead for trying to take you from the Grey Wardens. They had no right, and I was assured by the Knight-Commander of Ferelden that those templars were acting outside of their authority.”

“Who, Gregoir?” Anders returned with a sneer. “I heard he wanted to kill every mage in the tower! Wanted to annul the entire Circle!”

“He was going to enact the Right of Annulment, yes,” Rowan said as calmly as she could. “He believed the tower and all within it lost to the demons and abominations. And believe me, there were scores of abominations and demons. It was quite horrific. Most of the mages and templars perished in Uldred's uprising. Be glad you weren't there. You might have ended up an abomination, yourself. I understand that some of the possessions were... quite involuntary.”

Anders looked at her suspiciously and opened his mouth as if to speak, but he didn't. He shut his mouth again and shook his head slightly, but nothing more.

“Anyway,” Rowan continued when Anders didn't say anything, “Gregoir aside, don't you remember how furious I was about that entire incident with Rylock? I was fighting mad about that whole affair, and Knight-Commander Gregoir was made well aware of it in no uncertain terms. It's a violation of ancient treaties to interfere with Grey Warden business that way. Furthermore, I will never tolerate that kind of meddling with those under my command.”

“Right, yes. True,” Anders conceded. He was calmer now, the blue sparks having slowly stopped. “That's why they sent a templar in to infiltrate. You won't hand me over, and they know they can't just come and take me, so they sent in a spy! Yes, that must be it! What kind of lies did he tell to cover up for his real mission?”

Rowan sighed. She got up and reached out to Anders, who flinched. The cat in the satchel was wriggling again, but he had stopped meowing now that Anders had calmed down. Rowan was still deeply concerned by Anders' expression. His eyes were still wild in a way she'd never seen. He looked angry, paranoid.

“No. Listen to me,” Rowan said in as calm a voice as she could manage. “As far as I can tell, Rolan sincerely wants to serve as a Warden after the village where he was stationed was destroyed by darkspawn. I am still assessing him, and others. No decision has been made. Please know that I will not let anyone spy on you, or watch you, or try to take you back to the Circle, or otherwise interfere with you.”

The cat in the satchel meowed again loudly, almost a yowl, wanting to get out.

“Ser Pounce-a-Lot sounds upset,” Rowan said, taking a different approach. “Come on, sit down, let's get Pounce sorted out, shall we?”

That was how Nathaniel found them, sitting side by side on the bed, Anders holding and petting the ginger cat, whose striped tail was still twitching agitatedly, while Rowan sat close by, speaking to the cat in a quiet voice.

“What's going on?” Nathaniel asked.

“Ser Pounce-a-Lot was upset because Anders was. It seems to be better. Pounce has a way of bringing out Anders' softer side, don't you kitty?” Rowan said to the cat, but even as she was scratching the cat's ear, she looked up at Nathaniel with wide eyes, trying to communicate her concern.

“Anders? You all right?” Nathaniel asked, plopping down on the bed on the other side of the blonde mage.

“Oh, look, here I am in bed with both of you. My lucky day,” Anders remarked, but it was clear his heart wasn't in it. He seemed deflated, somehow, as if the rage and magical energy that had been practically lighting him up earlier had receded, leaving him weak and exhausted.

Rowan moved her hand from the cat to Anders and stroked his arm. “So you are. You, me, Nathaniel, and a little extra pussy.”

Anders chuckled, but it was half-hearted. “I'm... rather tired. I think I should go and have a lie down,” he said after a moment.

“Good idea,” Nathaniel said. “Do you need anything? Tea? Cookies? Whisky?”

“No. No, it's fine. I'm fine. I'm sorry for my outburst. It just... When I found out you were actually considering a templar for the Wardens, it took me by surprise. I hate templars.”

“I know,” Rowan answered, patting him on the forearm. “I don't blame you. I'm not that fond of them, myself.”

“Come on, Pounce,” Anders said tiredly to the cat. “Let's go back to our room.”

“I'll see you soon,” Rowan said. Anders said nothing as he shuffled out of the room.

Nathaniel got up and shut the door after Anders left.

“Maker's balls, what was that about?” he wanted to know.

“He was... beyond reason for a while there. Anders insisted at first that I must have given in to pressure from the Chantry to allow a templar to come here and watch him. Then he decided that I was being duped, and that Rolan was a spy, sent to secretly infiltrate the Wardens. It was frightening to watch. I'm worried about him. I do understand that he hates templars, and with good reason. You know he's normally pretty good-natured, but just then he was beyond furious, and, frankly, paranoid. I can understand why he'd be uncomfortable around a templar, or even an ex-templar, but he was just... beyond reason for a little while. It was actually frightening.”

“Have you even made a decision on the templar as a Warden recruit?”

“I interviewed him again today, and I was leaning toward having him take the Joining,” she admitted with a sigh. “I was serious when I said I'm not that fond of templars, but Rolan does seem genuine, and decent. My biggest concern was that he would have issues with mages, but he appears to understand and accept that Grey Wardens customarily have mages within their ranks, that the Chantry and the Templar Order know this and accept it by ancient treaty. I also made it very clear that I will not tolerate in-fighting and that I expect my Wardens to put the interests of the order above and beyond all else. He seems to get it. He wouldn't be the first templar to join the ranks of the Grey Wardens, nor will he be the last, I'm sure.”

Nathaniel nodded. “What about Anders?”

“I don't know,” she admitted with a deep sigh. “He's one of my most valued Wardens, a brilliant healer, currently our only Warden mage, and he's my friend, but he has always been flighty. As I've told you before, I suspect that if he felt too pressured, or too trapped, he'd disappear, and I'm not sure if I want to risk it. But then again, if he'll run away for this, he'll do it for something else, so...”

“I understand,” Nathaniel said, rubbing her back with one hand. “There's no rush, you know. Things are calm for now, as least as far as the darkspawn are concerned. You can take a little time to consider. I understand a few more potentials have turned up just today. You're spoiled for choice, lately. For what it's worth, though, I would give weight of preference to Anders. An ex-templar might be useful, yes, but not as useful as a healer mage who also shoots fire out of his fingers and burns darkspawn to a crisp. In the meantime, perhaps we could send the three potential Wardens, Rolan, Reve, and Baker, on a patrol with Anders to see if they can work together, come to some accord. If not, perhaps we can send Rolan to Orlais to serve the Wardens there, or we can put him through the Joining and then send him somewhere else, Free Marches, perhaps? There are solutions here. We just have to find them.”

“You're right,” she answered with a sigh. “And these days, with all the potential recruits showing up, we really are spoiled for choice, as you say. For a time, I took anyone I could get, but we can afford to be more patient and more discerning now.”

“Would you have still taken me, had you been less pressured to acquire Wardens?”

“Of course.”

“What, no saucy comment about taking me?” Nathaniel asked. “You must be feeling the pressure.”

“I must be.”

“Fortunately for both of us, I know of several excellent outlets for stress.”

“Oh, do you now?” Rowan returned with a bit of a chuckle. “Well, pick one at random, then, and let's get to it.”

“Ah. There's the saucy minx I love.”

And so, in short order, they were naked and eating cookies, settled into the comforting, healing warmth of the hot spring bath that they still hadn't told anyone else about.

 

~*~

 

“Tell me exactly what happened, anything you remember,” Rowan said as calmly and evenly as she could. Her hair was loose and she had dressed hastily, having been called from her bed to deal with an emergent crisis.

Reve was sitting across from her in the upstairs parlour. Nathaniel, his hair unbound and as haphazardly dressed as she was, sat beside her, while Captain Garevel stood nearby.

They had already sent out scouts to try to find out what had happened to the patrol, based on the information Reve had already provided, but so far no word back.

“We stopped to camp by a stream,” Reve explained. “And I said I was going to go and see if I could hunt something fresh for dinner, to supplement the rations. I figured I might be able to scare up a hare or two, if nothing else. Everyone was happy for me to do that, so that's what I did. When I got back, there was... it was...”

The patrol had included the three Warden candidates, Reve, Baker, and Rolan, and Anders. Anders hadn't been thrilled about going on patrol with the man he derisively called The Templar, but after a discussion with Nathaniel, he had agreed to it. It was only a trial, to see if they could work together, and Nathaniel had made it clear that Anders was their priority.

“There were... the bodies... it was...” Reve took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. “When I got back to the camp, everyone was dead. Rolan's head had been... pulled right off his body, it looked like. Not cut, like with a sword or chopped with an axe. It was... torn off. There was blood everywhere from that, sprayed everywhere... Baker was burnt, charred. The smell... ugh, the smell...”

“I understand,” Rowan said sympathetically. “I know that smell, the mixture of charred flesh and fresh blood. It is revolting. And I can't recall having seen someone's head ripped off their body, but I've seen equally horrible sights. It's all right to be shocked and a little sickened. You've done well.”

Reve swallowed hard and visibly. “Anders was... nowhere that I could see or hear. As far as I could tell, though, he was... I think he burned Baker, and... I don't know how he would have done it, but... Could he have ripped Rolan's head off...? Can a mage even do that?”

Rowan looked at Nathaniel, who returned her alarmed gaze with one of his own.

“Well... not that I know of, but...”

For some reason, Rowan's mind flashed to the Ferelden Circle of Magi when it was brimming with demons and abominations, and she suppressed a shudder. She'd heard that mages were always in danger of possession, that they were natural attractors of demons wanting to cross the Veil by any means necessary. She had seen for herself what demon abominations were like, but other than that, she hadn't given it much thought. Suddenly she couldn't put aside the notion that something very bad had happened to Anders, something... demonic.

“How was Anders when you left them?” she asked.

“He seemed all right, I guess. Quiet. Rolan had been ribbing him a little, but it seemed like just normal banter to me. Nothing mean or anything. Anders seemed to take it okay, from what I could tell, but I didn't know him very well, so...”

“Did Rolan mention anything about Anders' magic? About him being a mage?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I would remember that, and I probably would have said something. I've known apostates and I used to do odd jobs for the Mages' Collective sometimes, you know them?”

Rowan nodded. During the Blight, she, too, had done work for the network of apostate mages who self-policed and just wanted to live their lives in peace, free from the control of the Chantry.

“Rolan wasn't being all mage-hunty or anything, like you might think a templar would do,” Reve insisted. “He was just joking a little about Ser Pounce-a-Lot. I think he just found it funny that Anders carried a cat with him most everywhere.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me?” she asked.

“No, ser, I don't think so,” the rogue answered. “I would have tried to track whoever or whatever... did that... but it was dark and I thought I'd better just find my way back to the Keep as soon as I could and let people know.”

“You did the right thing,” Nathaniel said firmly.

“Yes. It was sound thinking in a crisis,” Rowan agreed.

“Garevel,” Nathaniel said, “can you see to it that Reve gets a hot bath and a hot meal? I think he could use both. And a good-sized mug of warm, spiced wine would probably help matters, too.”

“Of course,” the guard captain, who had taken over many of Varel's duties as seneschal, answered.

When Reve and Garevel had gone, Rowan turned to Nathaniel and said quietly, “This was exactly the sort of thing I was afraid of. Though, I admit, I didn't expect anyone to get burned alive or have their head ripped off. Maker's breath.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the following chapters dealing with Anders and his disappearance are vaguely inspired by aspects of the "official" story of his possession or... merging, I guess, of Anders and Justice-Who-Becomes-Vengeance. I didn't like the original story that much, though, unless I read it as if narrated by a very confused, agitated, unreliable narrator, as I imagine Anders would have been for a time after the whole "letting a spirit share your body" thing. So this is my take on it, from a POV other than Anders. There are also some aspects of what he says in DA2 about the Wardens telling him his cat was "making him soft" and a few other things that bugged me in the game story.
> 
> Also, yes, the title of the chapter is from the Beatles song. If it gave you an earworm, you're welcome. ;) 
> 
> (I liked this acoustic version, in case you want to try to get the earworm out of your head: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=92nj_dOQYOc> )


	32. And So It Goes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan and Nathaniel have an argument, Ser-Pounce-a-Lot is found, and they learn more about what happened to Anders.

 

The investigation into what had happened to the patrol had turned up nothing conclusive, much to Rowan's consternation. Anders was definitely gone, with no trace of him or of Ser Pounce-a-Lot. Tracking had proven ineffective, possibly because he walked in a shallow stream for some time to hide his footprints and got out of it on rocky ground. Essentially, it was as Reve had described, with two corpses, one charred and one rather gruesomely decapitated, signs of a magical fight, and no further information.

And, of course, they were they left without any Grey Warden mages. Apart from the fact that mages often had healing abilities, they could also generate water or ice, an invaluable resource in the Deep Roads. With a mage along, a team of Grey Wardens could survive for weeks in the Deep Roads with minimal supplies, washing with and drinking magically generated water and eating nugs and deep mushrooms to supplement the hard tack, or when the hard tack ran out. Without a mage, they had to carry water with them, possibly on a beast of burden like a bronto, and their time underground was much more limited and far more dangerous; dying of thirst made you just as dead as dying from a spear in your gut.

Rowan would not go to the Circle tower at Lake Calanhad seeking more mages for the Wardens. The Circle had suffered greatly from Uldred's uprising, and they were still rebuilding. Plus, most of the surviving, able bodied mages had already been called into service for the Battle of Denerim, so while Rowan technically did have the power of conscription, she didn't feel it would be responsible to conscript yet more mages for the Grey Wardens, especially since there was no Blight imminent, and the threat in Amaranthine seemed to have been genuinely contained.

She hadn't thought about the Mages' Collective in some time, but when Reve mentioned them, it had occurred to her that there may well be mages within the Collective who would be interested in joining the Wardens. Rowan had already done work for the Collective, and was a known entity, and the Wardens were in favour with the public for the moment, so if she could find a representative of the Collective and put the word out through their network that she was looking to recruit, perhaps she could get a few good Wardens.

The problem was, she didn't know where to find a representative. She knew there was at least one in Denerim, but after the battle, she hadn't seen hide nor hair of them, though it was true that she hadn't had any reason to look. There also used to be Mages' Collective representative in Redcliffe, but Redcliffe was some distance. Perhaps there might be one in Amaranthine, though. It was a big enough city, and while the marketplace and some other areas of the city had been badly damaged in the recent battle, business was still being conducted, and large portions of the city were entirely untouched, thanks to the network of walls and gates that had kept the darkspawn at bay.

Rowan raised the subject with Nathaniel at lunch in the second-floor parlour.

“We should go to Amaranthine,” she said over melted cheese on toast and mushroom soup. “We can see about hiring more general staff, as well as checking on the state of things there. I get word regularly, of course, but I'd like to see it for myself. I'd also like to see if I can find a representative of the Mages' Collective. We need Warden mages, and I don't think the Circle will have any suitable candidates.”

“That's fine. When do you want to go? I'll consult with Garevel and arrange for a company of armed guards, hand-picked.”

“You... what?” Rowan looked up from her soup in surprise.

“You were nearly assassinated. There are almost certainly some conspirators remaining. Going into Amaranthine without a strong and visible escort is foolish.”

“Why don't I just go in carrying a banner that says, _here I am, take your best shot_?”

Nathaniel scowled and put down his spoon so he could point at her for emphasis. “You may take an assassination attempt lightly, but I do not! Believe it or not, you can't just befriend or bed everyone who tries to assassinate you!”

“Well, that was uncalled for,” she returned sharply. “I've never bedded anyone who _actually_ tried to kill me. Though, maybe it might have put Esmerelle in a better state of mind if I had bedded her. Maker knows that woman looked like she could use a good fuck.”

Nathaniel startled her by actually growling and slamming a fist on the table. Maker, she hadn't seen him this angry for a very long time, not since she'd first encountered him in the dungeon so many months ago.

“This is not a joke!” he shouted. “I refuse to let you risk your life!”

“I risk my life every time I leave the Keep!” she shouted back. “And a few times when I came into it! Don't you think I am aware that I'm a constant target? How do you think I survived the civil war, with assassins and thugs and misguided fools constantly trying to take me out of the equation? I did business and travelled all around Denerim when I was a wanted criminal, right under the very noses of Loghain and your father! And I did it by hiding in plain sight.”

“You... are the most confounding woman I have ever known!” He was still scowling at her, his lip curled and brows drawn together almost menacingly. If she didn't know him as well as she did, she would honestly have been afraid of him. As it was, she found him quite arousing when he was like this, a realisation she mentally filed away, as it was neither the time nor the place for that.

“Nate,” she said more quietly, “I understand that you want to protect me, keep me safe. I appreciate that more than you might realise. But I am more than capable of keeping myself alive, as evidenced by the fact that I am still alive. What I had in mind was for just the two of us to go to Amaranthine, dressed in neutral clothes, cloaks with hoods, like couriers or scouts, something unremarkable. We're both good at stealth, and if we can keep a low profile, we can avoid drawing the attention of any would-be assassins or conspirators. Honestly, there's no reason at all to think they'd even be looking for me in the city. And if we were to have the misfortune of drawing unwanted attention, between the two of us, we can take on a small army of assailants, and you well know it.”

He sighed heavily and picked up his spoon again. “There's no use arguing with you, is there?”

“Not on this,” she acknowledged, “and you know I'm right.”

“I will not concede that,” he answered, pointing his spoon at her, still frowning, “but I will admit that your plan, as outlined, is not entirely without merit, and I do take your point about not drawing attention. Occasionally, locals recognise me, but you're still relatively unknown. If I pull up my hood over my face, it should help.”

“There you go,” she answered with a smile. “I knew you'd see things my way.”

“Oh, I still disagree,” he pointed out. “I just know when there's no point arguing, so I'm trying to make the best of it.”

“That's fair enough. You don't have to like it, you just have to help me make it work.”

“Exasperating woman,” he muttered.

“And you love me for it.”

“I love you in spite of it,” he answered with grudging half-smile. “This is what I get for falling in love with the infamous Cousland Spitfire.”

“True enough. There is good reason why they didn't call me the Wallflower of Highever or the Cousland Honeycake.”

He shook his head with a true smile and returned to his meal, and Rowan basked in the warm, happy realisation that not only was he willing to challenge her when he strongly disagreed, even when he was furious, but he was still listening to her, still willing to negotiate with her, and, best of all, he still trusted her judgement.

 

~*~

 

The city of Amaranthine was still recovering from the darkspawn incursion, so there were plenty of couriers and delivery crews and other strangers about. With their neutrally-coloured, plain cloaks and hoods, the two Wardens kept to the lesser used side streets as much as possible and drew little notice. It helped that Nathaniel knew the city intimately.

The marketplace was still in shambles, unfortunately, and little to no real commerce was being carried out there, though some enterprising merchants who still had goods to trade or services to barter had set up stalls in another part of the city not far away. Rowan spoke quietly to a few of them, and then managed to find the man who represented the Merchant's Guild and asked him to put out the word through his network that Vigil's Keep was looking for cooks, housekeepers, maids, gamekeepers, and most other posts one would expect to find in a large Keep. She also mentioned that any merchants who wanted to trade at the Keep were welcome, and that they might even be provided with quarters while they were there. She added that if there were any healers or alchemists or apothecaries interested in plying their trade at the Keep they, too, would be most welcome.

Their next stop was the Chantry, which still housed some of the refugees who had lost their homes. Rowan had a quiet word with the new Revered Mother, as the previous one had perished in the battle. That woman had a reputation for being harsh, but the new one seemed much more caring and even handed. Rowan let her know that any refugees who could make their way to Vigil's Keep were welcome to camp within the walls in the outer courtyard, and if they had skills to serve the fortress, they might be able to find work there, including lodging. Food was in short supply all over the arling, of course, so those with fishing, hunting, trapping, farming, or gardening skills were welcome to come and ply their trade in exchange for shelter and coin or barter.

When the two Wardens went into the Crown and Lion, they were surprised to find a ginger cat strutting along the bar, one who looked and moved exactly like Ser Pounce-a-Lot.

“Pounce?” Rowan said with surprise. The cat looked up and meowed at her, ears perked, striped tail swishing. Rowan put her hand out and the cat butted his head against her palm, purring delightedly. “How did you get here?” she asked the cat.

The tattooed dwarven bartender frowned and peered into Rowan's hood and then nodded slightly when he recognised her.

“The blonde Warden with the earring brought him here,” he volunteered. “Said he had orders and couldn't take the cat with him, and asked if we needed a mouser. He's a good mouser, too, aren't you, Pounce?” the dwarf added, addressing the cat affectionately in his gruff voice.

“He looks well,” Rowan commented. Indeed, the cat's ginger coat was shiny and his golden eyes were clear and bright, his pink nose moist. Everything about him looked well-loved and well-fed and comfortable.

“He's popular with the customers, that's for sure,” the bartender said with a grin. “He seems to like it here with us. When he's had enough attention, he knows just where to go to hide from everyone, and he does a good job keeping the rodent population under control. The Warden did us a good turn.”

“So it would seem,” she said, stroking the cat's back. “Pounce certainly seems like a happy cat. Better being in a tavern than being in the Deep Roads, anyway.”

“Anything is better than being in the Deep Roads,” the dwarf retorted.

“Do you remember when the Warden brought Ser Pounce-a-Lot to you?” Rowan asked.

“Woulda been... maybe three weeks ago?” answered the bartender. “He looked pretty rough, like he hadn't been sleeping. Seemed really jumpy, too. Why do you ask?”

“Just checking,” Rowan said calmly, catching his eye, “so that no one else does.”

The dwarf and the Warden-Commander held each others' gaze momentarily and then both nodded. They understood each other.

Rowan gave the cat one more scratch around the ears and thanked the bartender with a nod, a gift of coin, and the comment that she and her companion would be back later, but asked that he keep quiet about their presence in the city, and the dwarf nodded once more.

“Haven't seen you for weeks,” he said. “Probably won't for weeks more.”

Investigating Anders' disappearance had not been on the day's agenda at all, but now that they had a time frame and a lead, Rowan couldn't let it go. Amaranthine was a port city, and if Anders had left by ship, Rowan wanted to know about it, so they headed toward the docks, Nathaniel in the lead, winding through and past the city's series of gates and side streets.

It took a fair bit of time, some persuasion, a little intimidation, and ultimately, a bit of coin to jog the right memory and open the right log book, but they eventually found out that a man fitting Anders' description and going by the name Dash Darkley had booked passage to Kirkwall just under three weeks prior, which lined up with what the bartender had told them and would have been around a week after Anders' disappearance and the death of the patrol.

As they walked back from the port area, Rowan mused, “Dash Darkley. That's so Anders.” She smiled sadly. “At least he's not... From what we've learned, he was... all right. He's not...” _an abomination_ , she was going to say, but didn't. It was not something she liked to think, especially not about Anders.

“Whatever happened to that patrol is what led him to flee,” Nathaniel pointed out. “Unfortunately, we will probably never know what that was. And as much as I do like Anders, I don't think he was really cut out to be a Grey Warden.”

“I know,” she agreed, sighing heavily, tiredly. “He was fine with it at first, but he really came to dislike it. And, of course, he hated the Deep Roads, but who doesn't? I suppose he just ran away, as I always feared he would. Still, I had hoped... We were friends. I really do care for him, and I thought it was mutual.”

She sighed deeply and shook her head. Morrigan had been her friend, too, but she had disappeared in anger after Rowan refused to try to convince Loghain to participate in Morrigan's blood magic sex ritual on the eve of the Battle of Denerim. Velanna had not been a friend, exactly, but they were on good terms and the elf had outright pledged to serve the Grey Wardens, yet she had disappeared in the middle of a battle against the darkspawn. And Alistair, of course, had pledged not only to serve the Grey Wardens, but he had been her friend and then her lover, and had spoken often of their future together. And now Anders had buggered off to the Free Marches without so much as a goodbye. This was becoming a depressing pattern.

“So, Kirkwall,” she said, changing the subject. “You spent some time there, didn't you?”

“About a year, yes. Kirkwall is an old, strange city with a lot of places to hide, and there are a lot of Ferelden Blight refugees there these days,” Nathaniel pointed out. “It would be easy for Anders to make himself more or less invisible there, but he might not even stay. He could go on to some other city in the Marches. There are plenty of them: Markham, Tantervale, Starkhaven, Ostwick, and others. Or he could go farther. Nevarra, Antiva, Rivain, even Tevinter. I expect he'd steer clear of the Anderfels, given the Grey Warden presence there, but who knows. His family were originally from there, weren't they? We could hire agents to try to find him, if you like, but Anders is clever, and the trail is probably cold by now. And if you want to avoid calling attention to him, hiring people to find him could be problematic.”

Rowan stopped walking, and stepped into the shadow of the eaves of a building, where she slumped against the wall.

“I don't know what it is, Nate,” she said tiredly, “but something is very wrong here, and very strange. Call it a gut instinct. And while some part of me wishes I knew the whole story, a bigger part of me thinks it's really best left alone. At the end of the day, I always knew Anders was a flight risk, and now he's flown. Maybe... maybe it's best to just accept that and let it go. Let him go.”

“I have to agree,” Nathaniel said with a sigh, reaching out to cup her face with his hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “I know you're not good at letting things go, but sometimes that's the best option.”

Rowan nodded and put her arms around Nathaniel's torso, under his cloak. They were both armoured, which made having a proper hug difficult, but she still wanted to make the gesture. He leaned toward her and touched his forehead to hers, their hoods blocking out most of the light as they came together.

“Shall we go back to the tavern and get a drink?” Rowan asked.

“I think we could both use one. Or three.”

“I still need to find out if there are any representatives of the Mages' Collective in Amaranthine, and now I've spent too much of the day chasing down this information on Anders. Would you, perhaps, like to get a room for the night? I think I could use the distraction of a bottle of decent wine and a hot meal and an evening spent in bed with you.”

“That, my love, sounds like the best plan you've had all day.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rowan genuinely loves Anders, though she would never have really taken him as a lover for reasons she told Nathaniel. Anders broke her heart when he left, but she was kind of expecting it, and she had Nathaniel to cushion the blow. But here's the song. It's more of a love song than a friendship song, but when Rowan loves, she loves deeply and sincerely, and the song works. 
> 
> [And So It Goes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FHO6a2H-pqY)
> 
> In every heart there is a room  
> A sanctuary safe and strong  
> To heal the wounds from lovers past  
> Until a new one comes along
> 
> I spoke to you in cautious tones  
> You answered me with no pretense  
> And still I feel I said too much  
> My silence is my self defense
> 
> And every time I've held a rose  
> It seems I only felt the thorns  
> And so it goes, and so it goes  
> And so will you soon I suppose
> 
> But if my silence made you leave  
> Then that would be my worst mistake  
> So I will share this room with you  
> And you can have this heart to break
> 
> And this is why my eyes are closed  
> It's just as well for all I've seen  
> And so it goes, and so it goes  
> And you're the only one who knows
> 
> So I would choose to be with you  
> That's if the choice were mine to make  
> But you can make decisions too  
> And you can have this heart to break
> 
> And so it goes, and so it goes  
> And you're the only one who knows


	33. Back to Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan and Nathaniel sort out their business in Amaranthine and return to the Keep. 
> 
> (Lot of conversation in this, and a lot of set up and some background. A bit of romantic fluff, too. Kind of a bridging chapter. Entirely SFW.)

 

They spent a pleasant evening in the room they hired at the tavern, distracting each other in various entertaining ways. A bottle of Antivan wine, a decent meal, a shared bath in the stone tub, and an evening of rather exuberant passion later, and the two Wardens fell asleep in the big bed, contented.

In the morning, they discussed the day's plans as they ate breakfast in their room, big bowls of oat porridge with honey and butter, and a pot of tea.

“So, how do we want to do this?” Rowan asked. “I have no idea how long it will take to find a representative of the Mages' Collective, if there even is one. We could end up spending most of the day chasing it down.”

“Well, if I actually I get a say in this, I'm going to suggest that we should arrange to have this room for another night, go out and take care of whatever business we need to look after, give the household staff here a chance to see to the room, and then come back and get to sleep early enough to make a good, early start, unlike last night. If we don't dawdle, we can make Vigil's Keep before bedtime tomorrow, and if we do take a little longer, we can get a room for the night at one of the guesthouses that have been re-opening all along the Pilgrim's Path.”

“That sounds like a plan to me,” Rowan answered as she put down her mug of tea. “And what do you mean, if you get a say? I always listen to your advice.”

“Oh, yes, of course. You listen to my advice, but you don't take it. And you still argue.”

“I only argue when you're wrong,” she retorted with a smirk. “When you're right, we don't even disagree, now, do we?”

He shook his head slightly and smiled as he ate his last spoonful of porridge. “You are exasperating,” he said when he'd swallowed.

“And the pot once again calls the kettle black. Will you do my hair for me?”

“Of course.”

Nathaniel pushed his chair back and grabbed the comb he'd used earlier on his own hair, which he'd taken to wearing in a simple ponytail, especially as he'd let it grow out past his shoulders. She'd slept with her hair still braided as usual, and he had to fix the mess before he could begin, but then he wove the chestnut strands into a snug plait that hugged the back of her head until it fell down the back of her neck. He secured the ends with the leather hair tie and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek.

“Thank you, love,” she said, patting her hair as she got up.

“That's the first time you've called me that. Called me any term of endearment, actually.”

“Is it? How do you remember things like that?” she asked him as she got up to start putting on her armour.

“I remember all kinds of things about you,” he answered with a grin as he worked the buckles of his own armour. “The first time we sparred, the first time I laughed at one of your jokes, the first time you laughed at one of mine, the first time you called me Nate, the first time you told me you loved me. All of it.”

“That's... surprisingly sentimental.”

“Don't let my sentimentality get around. It will ruin my reputation for being a brooding hardarse. Come on, then, get your daggers and your cloak and we'll arrange for another night here and maybe say good morning to Pounce and then we'll set out to sort out the world.”

 

~*~

 

“Messages for you, sers,” said the soldier at the gate as Rowan and Nathaniel arrived back at the Keep.

“Both of us?” Nathaniel asked as he took the folded message. The wax seal on it was generic, and there was a Denerim return address on the back. He thanked the soldier as Rowan collected the messages waiting for her, and the two of them walked into the hall, where Ser Barkley practically tied himself in happy knots as Rowan stopped to pet him and tell him he was a good boy and that she'd missed him terribly and hoped he'd looked after the Keep while she was away.

“What, no excitement waiting for me?” she said aloud to one of the guards who was on duty in the hall.

“All quiet, Commander,” the guard answered.

“Extraordinary!” Rowan exclaimed. “Carry on.”

“I can offer you some excitement later,” Nathaniel said quietly in her ear, and she giggled.

Two of the guards looked at each other and tried not to smile, but they'd clearly seen Nathaniel's gesture and heard the Commander giggle, and they could guess the nature of what he'd said. Nathaniel nodded to them with a smirk as he and Rowan passed on their way to the kitchen.

They had missed dinner, but there were leftovers, and the staff offered to heat them. They decided to eat in the dining hall, and Rowan stepped into the pantry, emerging with a bottle of cider and a bottle of dark ale. They were sitting quietly together in the deserted dining hall when one of the kitchen staff appeared with a tray.

“Thank you, Janet,” Rowan said to the blonde woman.

“You're quite welcome, my lady,” Janet answered with a smile. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, thank you. We'll bring our own dishes to the kitchen when we finish.”

“You really do know the entire staff, don't you?” Nathaniel asked as Janet left the dining hall.

“Yes. There are a lot more soldiers here now than there used to be, though. I'm still learning who they all are. Now if only we can get some more Wardens, particularly mages.”

While in the city, Rowan had, eventually, found someone from the Mages' Collective, though it had taken most of the day. She had put out the word through the network that she was looking to recruit mages into the Grey Wardens on a strictly voluntary basis. She made it clear that it's not an easy life, but that it was a life free of Chantry and templar interference, plus it offered a steady stipend, the promise of found treasure and other rewards, and it was a way to start a new life. She was hoping that some of the apostates of the Collective would be interested and would come to Vigil's Keep to learn more and perhaps decide to take up arms against the darkspawn.

Now it was just a matter of waiting to see who turned up, and, of course, there was the matter of assessing the other Warden hopefuls who were already there.

As they ate, Nathaniel read the letter he'd received, which turned out to be from Delilah.

“Ah. It seems I am an uncle. Delilah has been safely delivered of a son,” Nathaniel said as he read the letter. “Dane Albert Dryden.”

“Dryden?” Rowan echoed. “Her husband the merchant is a Dryden? I know that family. Their several times great grandmother was Sophia Dryden, the Warden-Commander of Ferelden back in the Storm Age. It was under her command that the Grey Wardens carried on so scandalously that the Drydens were stripped of their lands and titles and the Wardens were exiled from Ferelden for a couple hundred years. Of course, the story is a lot more complex, and the king was her cousin as well as a tyrant, so she was a rival for the throne. Ferelden politics, you know how it goes. The Couslands were mixed up in that, and on the losing side. I wouldn't be surprised if there were Howes involved, though I couldn't say which side the would have been on. Anyway, some of the Drydens are in residence at Soldier's Peak, the old Grey Warden fortress up in the mountains on the Storm Coast. They use Soldier's Peak as a storage facility for various goods and they have a standing agreement to supply the Grey Wardens at cost or just above it.”

“How strange.”

“Which, that Wardens behaved so badly, that the Drydens use Soldier's Peak, or that your sister is married into a family with ties to the Grey Wardens?”

“I was actually thinking it odd that you know the Drydens, but those other things, too, since you mention it. According to her letter, Delilah's husband would like to trade at Vigil's Keep once she's recovered enough from the birth to travel from Denerim. I assume that's acceptable?”

“Of course it is,” Rowan answered. “She's family, but even if she wasn't, having merchants and craftspeople here can only be a good thing for the Keep, at least according to Mistress Woolsey. We can even set them up in one of the cottages off the courtyard so they can come and go as they please and be as self-sufficient as they wish.”

“I'll write to her tomorrow, then, and invite them. What did you get?” Nathaniel asked, nodded toward her messages.

“I haven't read through all of it, of course, but as usual, there are some invitations to various social events I have no intention of attending,” she answered. “And there is also a marriage proposal from a bann I've never met.”

“Do you get proposals regularly?”

“Oh, yes. Fools have no idea what a Grey Warden is or why they wouldn't want to marry one. They just see me as a prize, same as all the arls and banns and lords and their sons who used to try to court me back when I was still the eligible daughter of a powerful noble house.”

“Well, I know what a Grey Warden is, and I definitely know why I want to marry you. Ready to marry me yet?”

“No. Sorry, love. Too much to do to be planning a wedding.”

“We could just elope, but I won't press my luck. That answer was better than an outright refusal,” Nathaniel said with a smile. “You really need a secretary to deal with your correspondence. Someone to look through your messages and summarise them for you, get your intended replies, and reply. You spend far too many hours writing personal replies to pointless communications.”

“Perhaps. Although some of my correspondence is Grey Warden related, and therefore potentially sensitive. I'd need to find someone I can trust. I expect I'm a prime target for spies and busybodies. I will think about it, though.”

“What about Varel? He was wanting light duty, wasn't he? He would be ideal in the position.”

“Oh, what a good idea. I'll speak with him tomorrow about it.”

“Good. Now, let's get these dishes in the kitchen and we'll got back to our room and see to that excitement I promised you.”

“And you call me insatiable.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Rowan's comment that she only argues with Nathaniel when he's wrong is something I've said to my own husband, who reacted pretty much the way Nathaniel did. ;)


	34. Temperence (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel suggests some ways in which Rowan might be able to set aside her burden of command. 
> 
> Entirely NSFW. It does further the character and nature of their relationship and interactions, but, yeah. It's smut. And veering into consensual kink, though this isn't particularly kinky, just a little bit of very light sub/dom play.

Someone on the staff had lit the hearth in their room, and Ser Barkley was dozing in front of it when they retired. He woke when they entered the room and wagged his stumpy tail, but then lay down again when he realised Nathaniel and Rowan were in for the night as Nathaniel shut the door.

“All right, clothes off,” Nathaniel said. “You wanted excitement, I'm here to give you that.”

“I'll take my armour off, certainly, but I should at least look through the rest of these letters,” Rowan protested. “There could be something important.”

Nathaniel scowled, and then reached out and took the bundle of messages from her hand and plopped them on the desk along with his letter from Delilah. He turned around, standing between her and the desk, his arms folded over his chest.

“Leave it,” he very nearly ordered, causing the mabari to lift his head, ears perked, eyes trained on Nathaniel. “We've only just returned and it's been a long day. If it's important, it will still be important in the morning and you probably can't do anything about it tonight, anyway.”

Rowan raised an eyebrow at him. She considered arguing, more about the attitude he was taking than about the letters, but then she decided to let it go. If they got into an argument, it would be like a pair of rams locking horns, and it would continue until one of them backed down, convinced the other, or they both got tired or had other things to attend. Rowan decided to simply back down on this one, especially since it _had_ been a long day, and she could easily concede his point about waiting until morning.

“Very well,” she said. “Help me out of my armour, then.”

Ser Barkley monitored the situation for a little while longer but then lay his head down on his paws, apparently satisfied that there was no trouble afoot.

“Of course,” Nathaniel answered with a faint smile as he stepped up to assist her. “I half expected a fight. I'm glad you didn't argue, because I'm really not in the mood for it, especially not over something stupid like when to read your correspondence.”

“That's why I didn't argue,” Rowan answered. “Didn't seem worth the effort.”

“Pragmatic, as ever.” Nathaniel said as he worked the buckles on her bracer and changed the subject. “You know, you never do put down your burden of command. You delegate tasks and responsibilities, but you never just let someone else take charge, not even when you're exhausted or wounded or crushed under the weight of your duties.”

“I... suppose that's true,” she conceded as she reached out to start working the straps on his leathers.

“You should, though. You need to put it aside at least occasionally. I know you feel like the world will fall apart if you stop being in control of it, but it really won't.”

In fairly short order, their armour was put away on the armour stands, their clothes were in the laundry basket, and they were both naked in the firelight. He pulled her into his arms and leaned in to kiss her, deeply, passionately, and she melted against him, returning the kiss, her fingers entwined in the hair on his chest.

She chuckled as she felt him gently walking her backward toward the bed. He gave her a quick, playful shove and pushed her onto the bed with a smirk.

“I would like to offer you some respite. Lie down, let me tell you what I have in mind.” She scooted back on the bed, watching him with a combination of curiosity and arousal as he stretched out beside her. “As I said, you never let go of your control, your command, not even for a moment. Not even in the most intimate of situations.”

“What do you mean? I let you take the lead plenty of times.”

“Yes, but did you hear yourself? You let me lead sometimes. You delegate. You allow me to take the lead because it pleases you, which is fine, but, hear me out, you never really relinquish your control.”

“You want to... what... are you suggesting?” Whatever it was, she liked the sound of it.

“You're indomitable under almost any circumstance, and I wouldn't try to dominate you, if that's what you're worried about. What I would like to see is you willingly putting aside your own natural dominance and just letting me take on the dominant role. I'd like to see you actually submit, not just allowing me take the lead because it pleases you to delegate sexual decisions to me.”

Rowan was intrigued. “I... what sort of things did you... uh... have in mind?”

“This is about you voluntarily submitting, letting go of all your pretences and defences and control. There is a kind of absolute nakedness there, an extreme vulnerability, and I admit, I would very much like to see you like that, completely open to me in every way. I also suspect you would find it... fulfilling... to show it to me, and to put aside all your agency and just let me make all the decisions for you, for us. Would you trust me to do that?”

“You know I trust you,” she answered breathlessly. Maker's balls, she was so aroused. He made the prospect of submission sound so appealing, to just let go and be completely naked, emotionally, mentally, in every way. Not being the Commander, not being the hero of anything at all, just being Rowan, bared in every way, at the tender command of the man she loved and trusted, who usually put her own pleasure above his own.

“Do you want to try?” he asked, as his fingers drew lazy circles on her belly.

“What do you want to do?” 

“That's negotiable, of course, and please know that I will never harm you. I will note that there's a fine line between pleasure and pain, but that's a discussion for another time. I will never make you do something you really don't want to do, though I might coax you to try something you're unsure of. If you ever want me to back off, to stop, if you feel overwhelmed or upset or concerned, you have only to let me know, and I will stop immediately. You will never be in any real danger.”

“I believe you.”

“For tonight, we'll start slowly. The first thing you need to do is just get used to not making any demands or decisions. The only control you will have is letting me know if you need me to stop for any reason, and I do mean for any reason. You need some word, something you'd never normally say in bed.”

She thought about it for a little while. “Korcari?” she suggested.

“As in the Wilds?”

“Yes. Is that all right?”

It was in the Korcari Wilds that the Fifth Blight had begun. It was where she'd met Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds, and Morrigan, her daughter. It was where she first decided that for good or ill, she was a Grey Warden and she had to be one, regardless of her loss, her pain, her sorrow, her fear, because Couslands always do their duty.

“That's fine. All right, so here are tonight's rules,” he said, almost casually. “You don't talk. No pleading or demanding or suggesting or any of that. You can make noise as you wish, you can nod or shake your head in response to a question, but you will not speak, with the exception of Korcari, if you need to use that. Is this clear?”

“Yes.”

“Apparently, it is not. No. Talking. Is this clear?”

Rowan nodded as a deep, hot thrill of lust warmed her belly. He was incredibly sexy when he used that tone of voice, that demeanour. She'd seen him use it on other people, of course, had seen soldiers and staff and even complete strangers automatically defer to him, calling him _ser_ or _my lord_ because it was clear he was a man in charge, but he'd never used it on her, and certainly never in such an intimate setting. And now that he was, she found it extremely erotic.

“Better,” he answered with a half smile. “The other rule is that you do what you're told to do, and you don't do what you're told not to do.”

She raised her eyebrows in question, and he smiled at her. “I'll show you.”

He leaned in and kissed her, nibbling at her lips, licking the inside of her mouth sensually. Hot, liquid arousal flooded through her body, pooling between her legs as Nathaniel ran his hand over her breasts, one at a time, gently squeezing and rubbing her nipples, and then down her belly and between her thighs, where he cupped her with his whole hand and gave a gentle squeeze. She responded with a groan.

“You are so delightfully responsive. I love that about you. Mmm, you're very wet,” he murmured in her ear as he easily slid two fingers into her, making her hips twitch involuntarily under his touch, and then again when he rubbed his thumb over her pearl. He had said once he had clever fingers, and he was so very right. He knew just where to touch her, and how. She closed her eyes and moaned as he worked his magic on her, pleasure radiating through her body.

“Yes, that's it,” he said softly in her ear. “I can feel how excited you are. Right on the edge, aren't you? Come for me now, sweetheart.”

And so she did, as he whispered in her ear, sweet, dirty praise and words of love, making her come all the harder.

“All right,” he said when she'd come down from the peak of her orgasm. “I wanted to get that out of the way first.” He removed his hand and she gave a whimper of protest, and he chuckled. “Don't worry, minx. You'll get more. And that was very close to demanding, but I'll let it go this time. I want to show you something now. There's a technique a man has to master if he wants to be a satisfying lover who can, shall we say, go the distance. It's a kind of self-control, where you allow yourself to enjoy, but you don't let yourself go over the edge until you're ready. Sometimes it's more difficult, of course, but it's a discipline well worth mastering.”

She wondered where this was leading. She certainly had no complaints about his self-control or the distances he went. She looked at him in the firelight, waiting to hear more.

“I want you to hold back,” he said simply. “Don't come until I tell you to. It can take a bit of practice, but I'm sure you'll get to where you can come or not as it pleases you... or on command, as you just did.”

Rowan groaned aloud as another wave of arousal washed over her and Nathaniel kissed her tenderly on the lips.

“Let's start simply, nothing too overwhelming,” he whispered. With his thumb and index finger, he gently but firmly grasped her pearl and slowly started to... pull... or... pinch... or... Maker, whatever it was he was doing, it was intense, and it was good. _So good_.

“Let it build,” Nathaniel told her quietly, “enjoy it, but don't let yourself go over the edge.” Rowan groaned and her hips started to move involuntarily, pleasure growing, spreading, filling her entire being. Maker, _so very good_... She gasped and whimpered, desperately wanting release, but he whispered to her, encouraging her to hold back, to wait, and she found that she could, and that it was the most exquisite mix of pleasure and unfulfilled longing she'd ever experienced. She was right on the edge, so close, and she wanted more than anything to give in and let it take her, but she waited, panting, whimpering, moaning with pleasure.

“Oh, yes, my beautiful love, that's it,” Nathaniel whispered to her. “I know, I can see you want it... need it... just... a little longer... yes... now, come for me. Come now.”

The orgasm that immediately overtook her hit like a gale force wind, powerful and overwhelming, and gloriously, deliciously, profoundly pleasurable.

“There you go,” he said, kissing her face. “See?” He kissed her face again. “What did I tell you?” Another kiss. “Worth it?” Nathaniel asked quietly.

She started to answer and then, remembering the rules, she nodded slowly, which made him grin and kiss her on the mouth.

“Now, we'll move it up a step.” He turned onto his back and said, “Climb on, minx. You can go for a ride.” Rowan didn't hesitate or play coy, she just straddled his hips and wriggled until she was positioned so she could sink down on his stiff cock. She gasped as he filled her, stretching, pressing, pleasuring.

“I had no idea you could be so obedient,” Nathaniel chuckled. “Now, you can set the pace as you wish. I won't interfere, other than to tell you when not to come and when to let it go. Understand?” She nodded, already eager to try. He nodded to her and she started to move, slowly, his cock pushing deep inside of her. He put his hands on her thighs and murmured something about how beautiful and strong she she was. She rose up slightly to let him feel the muscles in her legs flex as she swivelled her hips and he groaned.

“Maker, Rowan, you're so tight,” he hissed, “and that feels so good... Don't come. Enjoy it, but... hold back, no matter.... how fucking good that is....” Nathaniel moaned and tipped his head back, the apple of his throat bobbing as he did so.

Rowan kept up the rhythm of her hips, pleasure growing with every stroke, his cock filling her, rubbing in all the right places. She wanted very much to come, but she found she wanted to please him more than she wanted to please herself, and since what would please him right now was for her to hold back, she did.

He took her hand and moved it between her own thighs.

“Here,” he grunted. “Touch yourself.”

She did as he told her and rubbed the tip of her finger across her very swollen pearl with a moan while he watched her hand, then looked up at her bouncing breasts, then watched her face as she took her pleasure.

The pleasure built quickly, and the need for release was almost painful, but it wasn't really painful at all, even if it was relentless. She hovered right near the edge, ready to go over the moment he gave the word. By now, he was working his hips in rhythm with hers as his fingers grasped her thighs. She was whimpering and panting in between moans and gasps of pleasure and she didn't know how much longer she was going to be able to hold back. She kept her fingers moving against her own slick flesh, but had to back off frequently in order to hold herself back from that peak of her arousal.

Just when she thought she was going to have to give in, Nathaniel grunted in a hoarse voice, “Now, come now.”

She let it go and was utterly awash in the most exquisite orgasm she'd ever experienced. It was a combination of relief, release, fulfilment, love, even joy, pleasure so intense it was overwhelming. She was fairly certain she'd actually screamed when her release came, but she was so lost in the sea of emotions and sensations that she couldn't be sure. It took her a little while to notice he was right there with her, cock twitching inside her as he spilled his seed, having held back his own climax so that they'd both be part of this supremely intimate, intensely pleasurable experience at the same time.

“You can talk now, if you like,” he panted when he had come down. “And when you're ready, you can lie down with me here, too. I'd like to hold you.”

Rowan smiled and pulled herself off of his body and collapsed beside him.

“Andraste's flaming tits, Nate,” she said when she'd recovered herself enough to speak. “That was... intense.”

“Mmmm,” he answered, the sound rumbling in his chest. “That was a good first lesson, one we should keep practising from time to time. You can also hold back without me telling you, of course. You might find you like doing it sometimes just for your own enjoyment. The release, when it comes, can be... Well, you saw for yourself.”

“What's next?” she asked, running her fingers in formless patterns through the hair on his chest. “What other sorts of things do you...”

“Oh, there are plenty. It just depends on what you like, or want to try. Honestly, sweetheart, I think you just need to let go of your sense of command for a while now and then. The specifics don't matter that much. I'm in no hurry, though. We can discuss details as we get there, though I might take the lead in that if you've no objection.”

“I get to object?”

“Of course you do. I told you, I don't want to make you do things you don't want to do, or that you don't enjoy. In the meantime, of course,” Nathaniel said as he got out of the bed so he could tug back the covers, “do feel free to go back to being Lady Bossyboots, Mistress and Commander of All She Surveys.”

“I'm... Yes. Of course I am,” Rowan chuckled as she scooted around to get between the sheets. “But don't forget the lightning shooting out of my arse.”

Nathaniel got under the covers with her. “I'd actually quite like to see that if you care to demonstrate it sometime. I think that could have interesting applications,” he suggested. “But right now, my beloved minx, I think I'd like to get some sleep. It's been a long day. And no arguing,” he added with a playful peck on the lips.

“Not to worry, love. As I've told you, I only argue when you're wrong.”

 


	35. Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan consults with Varel and receives a rather startling letter from Bann Teagan.

 

“What do you have for me?” Rowan asked as she stepped into the room that had been made into Varel's office. He was now officially her private secretary, and he spent a few hours a day there, sorting through her correspondence, assessing it, and summarising it for her. Sometimes, he responded on her behalf and told her about it afterward, mostly the marriage proposals and event invitations he knew she wouldn't accept. Usually, though, he ran through any business with her and found out what she wanted to do.

“There is a letter from Bann Teagan of Rainsefere, addressed to your formal title, rather than your personal name, so I took it to be official and opened it. It does concern the Grey Wardens. You should read it for yourself. He would like to meet with you in person, and he'll be in the capital for some time. Since you're planning a trip to Denerim the week after next, perhaps you might speak with him then?”

“Yes, good idea. Pass on the details of when we will be in Denerim. We'll be staying at the Grey Warden compound at the palace, so we'll be easy enough to find.”

“Very well,” Varel said, glancing at the information. “I gather from the tone of it that you and Bann Teagan know each other well?”

“We do. On other matters, has Nathaniel come to speak with you about his father?” Rowan asked, completely changing the subject.

“He has not.”

“I think he's a little afraid of what you might tell him,” she suggested.

“I don't think anything I can tell him will change what he already knows. There is nothing I can say that will shed light on what his father was thinking or why he acted as he did, because I don't know. Only Rendon Howe knew the whole of it, and as far as I am aware, he didn't entrust anyone with the entirety of his plans or any of his true motivations.”

Rowan nodded. “Thank you, anyway. I might speak to Nathaniel about it again if it comes up in conversation. Speaking of Howes, did you know Lady Delilah?”

“Yes,” Varel confirmed, “though not well. Her father was very protective of her, and kept her well away from the soldiers and most of the staff.”

“Given what I know of his soldiers, I can't say I blame him.”

Varel had shared enough with her about the situation at the Keep to paint a picture of brutality and unsavoury acts, ignored or possibly even sanctioned by the arl. Nathaniel had made comments to the same effect, as Delilah had been well aware of her father's misbehaviour and that of his men and had shared that with her brother.

Despite being repeatedly demoted for standing in opposition to Rendon Howe's more unsavoury or underhanded acts and plans, Varel had still managed to learn things about the arl and his schemes and would not stand by and watch it happen. He began a whispering campaign amongst the men and staff, leaking small and sometimes large truths about the arl's misdeeds, and triggering a steady trickle of resignations and outright desertions.

The breaking point was the planned attack on the Couslands, and there were mass desertions prior to the march on Highever, when Varel surreptitiously let the facts of the mission be known, particularly the orders to kill everyone within the castle, combatant or not. Varel had deserted along with the soldiers, since he knew full well Howe would execute him when he found out what Varel had done.

As a result of the desertions, Howe had been forced to hire mercenaries, though some of his soldiers and knights had remained to take part. None of those men were at the Keep any longer, but Rowan would have certainly executed them for their part in the crimes perpetrated against her family and the people of Highever if they had been. She did have Garevel send out discreet inquiries to various contacts around Ferelden and in Orlais and the Free Marches, and if any of the soldiers or mercenaries who had served under Rendon Howe were found, they would be dealt with most prejudicially. Rowan felt no guilt whatsoever; those soldiers had the chance to rebel, and had, instead, marched on Highever and murdered innocents. They deserved as much mercy as they had shown.

Rowan took a breath and shook her head to dispel the dark thoughts that still haunted her.

“How many marriage proposals are there?” she asked.

“Only two today. I assume you do not want to relocate to Orlais to marry some frivolous popinjay of a lord who eats smelly cheese and ponces about in silks and gold brocade?”

“Your assumption is correct. What about the other?”

“Bann Loren of Caer Oswyn.”

“Ugh. He's old enough to be my father, and his wife was one of my mother's closest friends! She died during the attack on Highever, along with her son, Dairren, who was to act as my father's second and was also put forward as a possible match for me.” Rowan paused as a wave of sorrow washed over her. “Poor Dairren. Poor Lady Landra. I... honestly, I didn't like her all that much, but she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. She didn't deserve to be slaughtered any more than the other innocents who died that night.”

Rowan's face contorted into the too-familiar expression of grief and she closed her eyes and sighed, waiting until the wave of sorrow passed, as she knew it would. The episodes of grief were becoming fewer and farther between, but she suspected they would never fully leave her. The sorrow and guilt and pain would be with her for life, even as she learned to live with it and it became more tolerable.

“What about Lieutenant Howe?” Varel asked after a time.

“What about him?”

“I understand he wants to marry you.”

“Oh, not you, too. Why does everyone care if I marry and whom? It's been this way since I came of age. It's ridiculous. And how is it that everyone in the Keep knows he wants to marry me?”

Varel chuckled. “He hasn't exactly been discreet about it. From what I've seen and heard, he proposes marriage to you quite regularly, without regard for who might be listening. As for my involvement, if you were to marry, I wouldn't have to deal with the steady stream of marriage proposals. I can reserve some time on your calender for a wedding and perhaps a honeymoon, if you like.”

“Ha. As if I have time for such things. Too much to do here.”

“Well, you let me know. I can arrange whatever you like.”

“I like things the way they are now, thank you.”

“As you say,” Varel said in his most avuncular tone of voice. “But if you want your lieutenant to stop asking you to marry him, you should tell him that, and I'm sure he would respect your wishes. Either that or simply accept his proposal.”

“Do you have more impertinent questions and suggestions, or are we finished here?”

“Impertinent?” he echoed. “Oh, pots and kettles again, is it?”

Rowan couldn't help but smile. “Just because the pot is black doesn't meant that the kettle isn't, you know.”

“Indeed. Nor does the kettle's colour absolve the pot of blackness. And to answer your question, other than my strong suggestion that you read the letter from Bann Teagan, I believe we are finished for now.”

Rowan inclined her head and took Teagan's letter. “I'll see you later.”

She made her way to the upstairs parlour, where she was planning to meet Nathaniel for lunch. They usually ate in the dining hall, but a few times a week, they had private meals together, just the two of them. Sometimes it was business, sometimes pleasure, usually some of both. It was a pleasant diversion, in any case.

She was early, and Nathaniel was not present, so Rowan sat down in one of the padded chairs by the fireplace to read Teagan's letter.

 

_My dearest Lady Rowan Cousland, Commander of the Grey,_

_You may or may not be aware of this, but there was a minor uprising, an insurrection against Queen Anora, and it was done in the name of “Prince Alistair”. The uprising, which was the action of a group of malcontents who resent Queen Anora for some of her father's more unsavoury actions, was put down quite easily, as it was poorly organised and badly outfitted. Further investigations show that Alistair was in no way involved, and he has not been seen in Ferelden since before the Battle of Denerim._

_As a result of this incident, Her Majesty has concluded that exile is no longer appropriate for Alistair. Even if he was not and is not involved in future uprisings against her, he may yet serve as a rallying point or figure head for such actions. Although it would be most expedient, Her Majesty will neither execute him nor have him assassinated, as she made a promise to you and she intends to honour that, even as you spared her father from execution._

_She has, instead, decreed that Alistair should be found and brought back to Ferelden if at all possible, where he will publicly forswear all rights to the throne and must live under the supervision of what Her Majesty has termed a 'worthy authority'._

_She considers the Chantry to be such, and is willing to allow him to become a templar or a Chantry brother if he so chooses. She has also given leave for him to serve as a household knight or soldier under myself or Arl Eamon._

_Queen Anora also considers the Grey Wardens to be a worthy authority, and as Alistair has already taken the Joining and is an experienced Warden, she feels that his return to the order might be the most appropriate and beneficial choice._

_All of these potential options are, naturally, at the discretion of the authority in question, and in the case of the Grey Wardens, that means you would have to accept Alistair under your command. I understand that this may not be something you would readily do, but I would appreciate being able to speak with you in person about this matter._

_Of course, all of this assumes that Alistair can even be found, convinced to return to Ferelden, and that he would be willing to submit to these restrictions, any of which may not come to pass. Our last word on his whereabouts was that he was in Starkhaven in the Free Marches, doing odd jobs and spending most of his pay on drink. If he is in Starkhaven now, however, he has gone to ground. My investigators feel he has moved on to some other city, probably somewhere in Free Marches, but at this time, we do not know._

_Be that as it may, I would like to ask you to consider Queen Anora's decree and the conditions for Alistair's return. I know that, despite everything, you care about his welfare, and I am certain you would not begrudge him the right to return to his homeland._

_I will be in Denerim for the next several weeks, but I would be happy come to Vigil's Keep when my business in the capital is concluded. Or, if you are able to come to Denerim, I would be very pleased to meet with you, as I am sure Queen Anora will also be._

_Yours in affection and respect,_

_Bann Teagan Guerrin of Rainesfere_

 

 


	36. Of Banns and Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Commander of the Grey and her trusted Lieutenant have lunch and discuss Bann Teagan and his letter.

Nathaniel arrived almost simultaneously with the kitchen maid who was bringing their meal. Following Rowan's example, he'd learned the names of the household staff, and he greeted the young woman by name as she set out the dishes on the table. There were new staff members, as well, ones carefully vetted by himself, Rowan, Garevel, and Varel. Nathaniel knew the new staff by name because he'd been part of the hiring process. The maid shut the door as she left, and the moment she had gone, Rowan stood up, waving about the piece of parchment she was holding.

“I cannot believe this!” Rowan growled.

“What is it?”

“Queen Anora wants to... Oh, just read it yourself,” she said, thrusting the letter at him as she headed to the table.

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow at the greeting which opened the letter.

“I take it you and Bann Teagan know each other well?” he asked as he sat down across from her.

“Yes. Why? Oh, good, potato and leek soup,” she said as she took the cover off of her bowl.

“Just the way he addresses you and the familiar tone he uses. What does he have to do with Alistair?”

She swallowed her mouthful of soup and sighed. “Teagan is Alistair's... foster-uncle, I suppose you'd say. Do you really want to hear this whole story?”

“It seems I should, if the queen expects the Grey Wardens to agree that we might potentially take Alistair back into the order.”

“Ugh. I can't stand the sound of that, and I can't believe how calm you are about this. All right, then,” she sighed. “Teagan is the younger brother of Eamon, the Arl of Redcliffe, and the brother of King Maric's wife, Rowan. Alistair was raised by Arl Eamon for the first ten years or so of his life, before the arl's wife, Isolde, got pregnant and decided that Alistair had to go. She hated Alistair, made him sleep in the stables and generally treated him poorly, because she always thought he was Eamon's bastard, despite Eamon's denials, and she saw Alistair as competition for her own child. So Alistair got shipped off to the Chantry. When he was found to have talent as a warrior, he got put into training to be a templar, though he never took his final vows because Duncan recruited him into the Grey Wardens.”

She paused to dip a piece of bread into her soup and chewed thoroughly before continuing.

“Teagan thinks of Alistair as family, even though they're not really related at all. After Alistair was exiled, Teagan was quite concerned for him, and despite how angry I was, so was I. My investigation showed that Alistair had sold some of his best gear to get the coin for passage on a ship to the Free Marches. After that, Teagan sent his own agents to try to find him. Teagan was hoping to keep tabs on him, even if he was officially exiled. As you saw in the letter, Alistair was in Starkhaven for a while.”

“Yes. I'm still wondering how you and Bann Teagan know each other well enough to be on familiar terms.”

“Well, that's nothing to do with Alistair. Or... I guess it is, indirectly.” She paused, and then shrugged. “I met Teagan in Redcliffe, during the Siege. I'm sure I told you about that, all the undead attacking the village because the arl's idiot wife decided the best thing to do with a mage child was hire an apostate blood mage to teach him magic?”

“Yes, although I'm sure the story is much more complex and subtle than that.”

“Of course it is. In fact, Loghain was involved in all of that, including the poisoning of Arl Eamon, providing the blood mage apostate to tutor the boy, all of it. Not that he could have predicted how it would all unfold, but... I could discuss the intricacies of the situation for some time, but the fact remains that the arlessa really is rather stupid.”

“And you really don't like her,” Nathaniel commented with a smirk.

“That is correct. Anyway, Teagan was in Denerim after the end of the Blight, when I was staying at the Grey Warden complex at the palace. We like each other, so we kept company.”

“Intimate company?”

“Yes. How did you know that?”

“Ah. You've said things that made me think there was someone after Alistair, but I wouldn't have guessed it was Alistair's foster-uncle. How did that unfold?”

“Errr... At Redcliffe Castle, the night before the forced march to Denerim for the final battle, I had just learned from Riordan that a Grey Warden has to die in order to kill the archdemon. Morrigan offered to do some ancient blood magic sex ritual and conceive a baby that would absorb the soul of the archdemon, or, rather, the old god, so that nobody had to die, but, honestly, purposefully conceiving a child with the soul of an old god seemed like a terrible idea, and I would have had to convince Loghain to participate. I had stupidly believed the witch when she pledged her friendship, but when I wouldn't go along with her scheme to conceive an old god baby, she left me high and dry, just deserted me at the last minute. I was also feeling particularly angry and hurt about Alistair leaving, and Morrigan's leaving just accentuated that. I was quite honestly expecting to die, because of the whole _killing the archdemon kills the Grey Warden_ thing which I had only just learned. I was restless, so I went in search of something to help me sleep, decided to find the liquor cabinet I'd seen in the arl's study, and that's where I ran into Teagan, who was also there drinking.”

“And you threw caution to the wind and invited him to bed?”

“Ha. No, he made the offer. He was entirely straightforward, no undue flattery or attempts at seduction at all. He presented it as two people who found each other attractive enjoying each other's intimate company the night before a battle which neither might survive. No expectations, no strings attached, no judgements. It was an honest and enticing offer. I will admit, I was curious about his reputation. I assume you do know...”

“That he's a notorious ladies' man who is known in some circles as the Bannhammer?”

“Ah. I see you are aware.”

“I may have been away from Ferelden for some time, but he's been notorious for longer.”

“Anyway, when I survived the battle, I was very much at loose ends. Weisshaupt were making all the arrangements they wanted put in place at Vigil's Keep. I didn't want to go back to Highever, so I stayed at the Grey Warden complex at the palace, where I could easily be contacted and where all my needs were provided for. I didn't see any need to go to Amaranthine, which I wasn't looking forward to anyway, since it was the ancestral seat of the Howes.” She paused. “Sorry. ”

“It's fine. So the Orlesian Wardens who were here when I broke in, that wasn't your doing?”

“Not at all. They were here on Weisshaupt's orders. Why Orlesians I have no idea, other than them being nearby. Seems politically inappropriate, but then Weisshaupt made me Warden-Commander, and I'm Ferelden, so maybe they thought that would make up for it. Had any of those Wardens survived that first darkspawn attack on the Keep, they would have been under my command, though I don't know if one Ferelden commanding a dozen Orlesians would have made much difference to the people of the arling. Anyway, I only left Denerim for the Keep when I received word from Amaranthine that the darkspawn weren't going underground the way they should after a Blight and that there was other strange activity and my presence was required.”

“Did you... care for Teagan?”

“Of course. I wouldn't be intimate with someone I didn't like or care for. I suppose I can probably say that I love him in some sense of that word, but it... wasn't like that. It isn't like that. The sexual relationship was a few months of very pleasant distraction that we both knew wouldn't last. We were and are friends, however.”

“Very intimate friends.”

“Quite so. Those months in Denerim, Teagan was instrumental in keeping me... sane, I suppose. He kept asking if I wanted to talk about the things that happened, and I didn't. I couldn't, not then. Anora loved having me at court and gifted me with a whole wardrobe and even jewels, and kept insisting that I attend various dinners and other such functions. Partly, I honestly think she was trying to keep me occupied. Partly, I think she might have seen it as a kind of reward for my support. Mostly it was because having the Hero of Ferelden on display as her close ally gave her political and social leverage. Teagan was usually at the same functions, and we'd chat and sometimes dance and usually flirt. It was a good distraction, along with the time we spent behind closed doors or in dark corners of the palace grounds.”

“Well, that does sound like you,” Nathaniel commented with a half smile.

“You don't think less of me, I hope.”

Nathaniel snorted. “Me? I can't possibly find any moral high ground from which to judge you. And, as you say, you and Teagan were friends. Are friends. It's not like you were bedding random strangers.”

“Now you now know the entire list of my former lovers, anyway.”

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow and nodded. He was strangely pleased to know this particular fact. Not that he had expected she had a long string of ex-lovers, though he wouldn't be surprised if she had a string of broken-hearted suitors behind her.

“Does Teagan know about me? About us?” Nathaniel wanted to know.

“I wrote to him about the way you joined the order. I later told him I'd promoted you. I haven't told him we're... together.”

“Why not?”

“I... It didn't seem like the sort of thing to put in a letter. He deserves to be told in person.”

“Well, it seems you'll get your chance to do that. Should I assume we'll be meeting with the bann when we go to Denerim?”

“Yes. He's going to try to talk me into saying I'll consider taking Alistair under my command, assuming Alistair can be found and brought back and all that. Teagan says it's the queen's idea, and I suspect the restrictions are, but I'd be willing to bet that Teagan was the one who suggested that bringing Alistair back to Ferelden was a good thing.”

“Do you think Alistair would even want to rejoin the order?”

“Why would he? He hates me now, and wouldn't want to be under my command, anyway.”

“Far be it for me to defend that fool, but people do change. If he ever does come back, he might have something to offer other than petulance. You loved him once. He must have some good qualities.”

“He does, but none of them, other than being physically strong and a moderately impressive warrior, are useful for being a Grey Warden. And didn't you once offer to put an arrow in his throat if you ever met him?”

“I did, but you told me revenge never fixed anything, and I took it to heart.”

She fell silent as she finished her meal.

“I'm not happy about this at all,” she admitted eventually. “I can't help but feel that I'm over a barrel, or I'm about to be.”

“Now there's a pretty picture,” Nathaniel answered with a smirk. “What are your plans for this afternoon?”

“The usual. Preparing reports, reading briefings. I thought maybe later I might get in a bit of archery practice. There are no recruits to assess at the moment, but I'm still mulling over the potentials. Having no mages on hand to help with the assessment of mages makes it trickier, but I'm thinking of taking on all the mages who have volunteered. We can always use them, and it keeps them from the grasp of the Chantry, plus, it's less thinking and considering I have to do.”

“I have some new maps and notes to review from the latest expedition into the endless cellars, but it will wait until tomorrow. I'd be happy to go to the archery field with you if you like, but maybe first we might go somewhere that I can actually bend you over a barrel or some other suitable object.”

“Are you trying to distract me?”

“Of course I am.”

“Not that I consider it, I could do with some good, hard distraction.”

“Well, then,” he said as he got up from the table and offered Rowan his hand, “I suppose I'll just have to distract you senseless.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rowan's encounter with Teagan at Redcliffe Castle has its own shamelessly smutty one-shot: [Eve of Battle](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6117487).


	37. Awkward Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Commander of the Grey, her trusted Lieutenant, and one of their Wardens travel to Denerim. 
> 
> (Just a little bit NSFW in the middle-end, but nothing terribly graphic.)

 

Nathaniel was relieved that he didn't have to argue with Rowan about bringing along soldiers for protection on their trip to Denerim. Two of the non-Warden soldiers were present as guards, since it was unlikely they were going to have any trouble with darkspawn or go anywhere near where darkspawn were likely to be.

They also brought Sigrun along, since she had all the notes and measurements for the redecorating. Trotting beside them was Ser Barkley.

“As far as I know,” Rowan was saying to Sigrun, “the low market is still in bad shape, though I understand some of it is serviceable now. Thankfully, most of the goods from the Wonders of Thedas were removed to some safe location before the battle, when word came that the horde was approaching the city.”

“Wonders of Thedas?” the dwarf asked. “What's that?”

“Oh they sell all kinds of rare books and strange objects. Glass slippers, enchanted items, magical doo-dads, maps, all sorts of odd treasures. I wonder if they're back in business? I'll have to ask around. It's an interesting place to visit. I understand you can place custom orders, as well, for enchanted objects and the like, though I imagine it's quite expensive.”

“You should send word to Orzammar if you want enchanted things,” Sigrun suggested. “You're on good terms with King Bhelen, right? He'll probably see to it that you get anything you want. Nothing like dwarven craftsmanship and enchantments, or so I've always been told.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Rowan answered. “I wonder if the Gnawed Noble tavern has been restored? They were working on that the last time I was in Denerim. I also personally cleared out the Grey Warden cache that was hidden away in a warehouse off the lower market. I brought some of the items to Amaranthine with me, but the bulk of the cache is in the palace now, in a special vault the Queen arranged. We should eventually move it to a more neutral location. The Grey Wardens are well regarded now, but who knows when the political tides will turn again. The order was banished from Ferelden for a couple hundred years, after all. It could happen again.”

“You and Queen Anora are friends, Commander?” the soldier, Evon, asked, his voice rich with awe and his blue eyes wide.

“Errr... I wouldn't say we're personal friends, but we respect each other. I think she usually means well, for all that she is a politician.”

The other soldier, a bearded giant called Jack, snickered but said nothing.

“We'll be staying at the palace, then?” Evon asked, apparently amazed at the prospect.

“Yes. The Grey Warden complex is there. It has its own entrances and exits, and it's on the edge of an inner courtyard garden, so we don't have to go through the palace to come and go. It's in an area that wasn't damaged in the battle. Actually, not that much of the palace was damaged. Some of the main façade and some of the formal entry corridors, but for the most part, it came through mostly unscathed. The inner gardens were even intact when I was there last.”

“Imagine,” Evon said, almost to himself. “Me, staying at the palace! My mum will be thrilled!”

“Perhaps you might even meet the queen!” Rowan suggested, and Evon looked as if he might die of shock and wonder, making Rowan chuckle.

So went most of the journey, with discussions on various topics, particularly Rowan's knowledge of Denerim and her experiences during the battle there. Nathaniel was quiet for the most part, listening and paying attention, but otherwise keeping his thoughts to himself.

The plan was to stay at inns as they travelled. The road, being part of the Pilgrim's Path, was well-used and had plenty of taverns and guest houses, and most were very reasonably priced. They could have camped, as many pilgrims did, but Rowan felt that hot meals and beds more comfortable than a bedroll on the ground were worth the expenditure of a few coins.

Unfortunately, none of the inns at which they stopped had appropriate rooms for their travelling company of one woman, two men, and a couple, so Rowan and Nathaniel found themselves sleeping apart on the first night, with Nathaniel and the two soldiers in one room, and Sigrun and Rowan in another. It was the first time the lovers had slept apart since becoming intimate, and Rowan was surprised to find just how very much she missed his presence.

The next night, they did sleep together in a double bed, but it was in a chamber clearly intended for a family, because it also had a triple bunk and a cradle big enough to accommodate a toddler.

The arrangement was slightly awkward, but ultimately not that much worse than sleeping in a camp, and at least Nathaniel and Rowan were able to sleep together. That, however, proved to be a challenge of its own, given that they were in the same bed, touching each other, but unable to touch each other the way they would have liked to do if they'd had any privacy. Making love in a tent was one thing; doing it in a bed in the same room as other people was quite another.

By the time they reached Denerim, both Rowan and Nathaniel were very much looking forward to some time alone.

 

~*~

 

Denerim had many gates into the city. Rowan took them around to the entrance that would get them to the Palace District as quickly as possible while Sigrun chattered with delight about anything and everything they saw. By the time they reached the Grey Warden complex at the palace by a little known and rarely used side street, Nathaniel was greatly anticipating a change of clothes and some private time with Rowan.

As described, the Grey Warden complex was on the edge of an inner courtyard, a kind of cloister with rooms that would house a couple dozen people comfortably, and many more if some were willing to sleep on the floor. There was a communal privy near the garden, and a hand pump for water with a stone basin.

Rowan told the others to find rooms of their choice while she led Nathaniel and Ser Barkley to the suite she'd used for the months she stayed in Denerim.

“This is quite nice,” Nathaniel said as they stepped into the sitting room.

“It is. I suspect King Cailan was behind the lavish appointments. He had a kind of fascination with the Grey Wardens. This is the Commander's Suite, and it even has its own privy! But more interestingly, shall I show you the bedroom?”

“Now what do you want to show me in there?” he asked with a straight face.

“That's where the basin is. And there's a bath tub, with running water. I thought we might like to clean up.”

“Oh, is that it, then?”

“And we might like to take our clothes off.”

“I see,” he answered. “I think I could do with some freshening.”

He followed her into the room and was immediately surprised by the huge, canopied bed draped with blue and gold brocade. There was no fire going in the hearth, but there was plenty of wood stacked in a corner, and a tinder box, plus an iron poker and tongs.

Nathaniel walked over to the basin and found the ewer empty, but Rowan showed him that there was a small lever that allowed water to flow into the bath tub, probably from cisterns on the roof, and he filled the pitcher from it. The water was cold, of course, but it was still running water in the room and a luxury. He poured some water into the basin and then turned to her and started to unbuckle her armour. She grinned and did the same for him. She tugged his tunic off and then yanked her own over her head, while he worked the laces on her breast band. They were both naked to the waist when he turned to wet one of the washing cloths neatly stacked by the basin.

“Turn around, raise your arms,” he said, motioning with his finger. She looked mildly surprised, but did as he asked, and he ran the moist cloth over her shoulders and upper back, and then her armpits, one at a time, making her giggle and shiver from the cold water.

He turned to the basin and rinsed the cloth and squeezed the excess water from it before returning his hands to her torso, this time reaching around to lift one breast while he rubbed the moist cloth beneath and then across, kissing her on the neck once as he felt her nipple pucker in response to the stimulation. He repeated the motion on the other side and took the opportunity to caress her breast in a much more erotic way, rubbing his thumb over her nipple until she sighed with pleasure.

In her ear, he said, “Why don't we get the rest of our clothes off and –”

He was interrupted by a sharp, strong rap on the door. Nathaniel groaned and Rowan sighed.

“Let me just see who that is,” he said with some annoyance. “You're half naked.”

“So are you,” she argued.

He ignored her and strode into the front room and opened the door. Standing outside was a nobleman dressed in fine clothes, with collar length auburn hair and a neatly trimmed goatee beard. The man had sharp features, high cheekbones and a hawklike nose, and a lock of hair on one side put into a plait and tucked behind his ear.

“Yes?” Nathaniel said, somewhat more irritably than he'd intended.

The man was clearly taken by surprise. His eyes flicked over Nathaniel's half-dressed state before he answered.

“I... errr... was looking for the Warden-Commander. Is she using different quarters?”

“She's here,” Nathaniel answered curtly. “May I ask who is calling?”

“Bann Teagan.”

“Ah. Of course. Come in,” Nathaniel answered, pulling the door wide. “Have a seat, my lord. I'll go and get her.”

Ser Barkley was on his feet to greet the bann as Nathaniel shut the door and then stepped into the bedroom to find that Rowan had pulled her tunic over her head.

“Bann Teagan would like to speak with you,” Nathaniel said simply.

“I know. I heard. Maker, this is awkward.”

Nathaniel couldn't help but smirk as he scooped up his tunic and put it on. He considered walking around bare-chested to make a point, but judging by the look on the bann's face, the situation was already clear enough. No sense being a prat about it.

Teagan looked up from petting Ser Barkley and grinned broadly as Rowan emerged from the bedroom.

“Rowan! How wonderful to see you. You look well!” He got to his feet just as Nathaniel came into the room.

“Teagan,” Rowan answered warmly, “how did you know we'd arrived?”

The bann took her hands in his and drew her close enough to kiss her on the cheek before he dropped her hands again. It was an innocent gesture, a friendly one, but Nathaniel didn't miss the implied intimacy behind it.

“I had someone watching the Grey Warden compound, of course. I came as soon as I got the message that you and your company had arrived.”

“Oh,” she answered simply. “Uh... Introductions are in order, I should think. Bann Teagan Guerrin of Rainesfere, this is Nathaniel Howe, Lieutenant Commander of the Grey, my second-in-command. Nathaniel, this is Teagan.”

Teagan offered a hand in greeting, which Nathaniel took with a nod.

“Howe, is it,” Teagan said thoughtfully. “I admit, I never thought to see that name again anywhere near court. But Rowan tells me you're a fine Warden and a good friend to her, and I have no reason to doubt that. Congratulations, by the way.”

Nathaniel frowned. “For what?”

“Your promotion, of course. Well done.”

“I... thank you, my lord,” Nathaniel answered. He couldn't work out what Teagan was playing at, or what he was implying, if anything at all.

“Oh, no need for formality. Please, call me Teagan. May I call you Nathaniel?”

“That's fine. May I ask, Teagan, why you came to the Commander's quarters?”

“To see the Warden-Commander, of course,” Teagan said smoothly.

“Of course,” Nathaniel said, looking the bann in the eye.

“My apologies for interrupting,” Teagan offered.

The bann's expression made it clear he knew exactly what he'd interrupted, and his apology seemed sincere. Nathaniel was still unsure what to make of Teagan's reaction. Teagan, for his part, seemed more amused than anything.

“Rowan,” Teagan said, turning to her, “I wish you had apprised me of the situation. It would have saved all of us a good deal of awkwardness.”

“Situation? Oh, you mean... Yes. I... didn't want to tell you by letter. I thought it was something better said in person.”

Teagan smiled at her affectionately. “Ah. Well, that was a kind thought. Unnecessary, but kind. Still, I thank you for the consideration, however awkward it made things.”

He reached out to take her hand, and then raised it to his lips to drop a polite, courtly kiss on her knuckles before he turned to Nathaniel.

“No, no, you can wipe that look off your face,” Teagan said good naturedly. “I hope you know how fortunate you are. Rowan Cousland is an extraordinary woman.”

“I do know,” Nathaniel answered. “On all counts.”

“Teagan,” Rowan said, “I would still like to talk with you alone.”

He inclined his head in that elegant way of his. “Certainly. In fact, I wanted to talk to you privately before you meet with Her Majesty. Since I've already interrupted... errr... your conference, we could do that now, if you like. It won't be long before the queen gets word of your arrival and calls you to a meeting. Care to go for a walk with me? That is, so long as your Lieutenant trusts us alone together.”

“I trust Rowan,” Nathaniel said simply. “And I've no reason to distrust you.”

“Then, if you're so inclined, you and I might go for a walk together somewhere we can speak without being overheard. The court, as you know, has many ears, and not all of them are friendly.”

“All right,” Rowan answered. “Should I put my armour on?”

“It's probably not necessary, but you do seem to attract trouble, so maybe it would be for the best.”

Rowan nodded and slipped into the bedroom, leaving Nathaniel alone with Teagan.

“It's a couple of hours until dinner time,” Teagan said in a voice loud enough for Rowan to hear from the other room, “How would you feel if I make arrangements to have dinner for three brought here to your suite? We can discuss whatever we wish, and Nathaniel and I can get to know each other.”

“That's fine with me,” Rowan answered. “So long as you send someone to guide my people to the dining hall.”

“Is that all right with you?” Teagan asked, turning to Nathaniel.

“It's fine,” Nathaniel answered, frowning. He still couldn't work out what the bann's game was. Or if there even was a game. The man was as smooth as Antivan silk.

Rowan emerged from the bedroom in her hard leathers, daggers in place.

“Let's go,” Rowan said, signalling to Ser Barkley to come with her, no doubt as an extra measure of protection. There was nothing like having a mabari war dog as your personal body guard. “We'll be back before dinner,” she said to Nathaniel.

He watched them leave and considered grabbing his bow and his cloak and following them, ostensibly to watch her back. And, if he was honest, to keep an eye on the charming Bann Teagan, who was clearly very fond of Rowan, and with whom Rowan seemed to have considerable rapport. Then Nathaniel imagined what her reaction would be if she caught him following her around, essentially spying on her.

He wondered, briefly, if the feeling of irritation, annoyance, and slight concern he felt might be pangs of jealousy. Interesting. He'd never been invested enough in anyone to feel anything like jealousy, if that's what this was.

With a shake of his head and a sigh, Nathaniel headed to the bedroom to take a cold bath.

 

 


	38. Walk and Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Teagan and Rowan go for a walk with Ser Barkley.

Teagan and Rowan strolled along the streets of Denerim, far from courtiers and servants and other busybodies, Ser Barkley walking beside them. The city was still trying to recover from the battle, but some areas were relatively untouched, and others had already been partially rebuilt.

“So, Nathaniel Howe,” Teagan said evenly. “Is it serious?”

“Yes.”

“I assume he knows about our past affiliation?”

“If you mean to ask if he knows you and I were lovers, yes.”

“That would explain his reaction to me,” Teagan said with a knowing smile. “And it didn't help that I interrupted... well, you know what I interrupted.”

“I do apologise for not telling you. I really just didn't know how to write something like that. I've never... I'm not very experienced with this sort of thing. It seemed impersonal to put it in a letter, and I didn't know what to say. When I was made Warden-Commander and I left for Amaranthine...”

“We parted as friends,” Teagan answered with a smile. “Rest assured, despite a keen sense of disappointment that I won't be able to renew our intimate acquaintance during your visit, I certainly have no ill will on the matter. We both understood that one day our duties and responsibilities would pull us in opposite directions.”

“Yes,” she said with a sigh. “You said it, a long time ago in Redcliffe. If things were different... But they aren't. For what it's worth, I enjoyed our... intimate association. I will always care for you, and I will always be grateful to you.”

“ _You_ are grateful to _me_?” Teagan asked, his voice rich with astonishment.

“I am. You kept me from losing myself completely. After... Alistair left, I was... not myself. Not fully. That night in Redcliffe, I was honestly expecting to die in the coming battle. And then I didn't die and I was here at the palace with Anora and all of her invitations and requests that I meet this dignitary or attend that function so she could show off the great and awesome Hero of Ferelden...” Rowan grimaced. “Maker's breath. But you were always so kind and gracious and... entertaining... Delightfully distracting, you are.”

He chuckled. “I admit, I found myself rather entertained and distracted by you, as well.” He reached out and took her hand and tucked it into his elbow as they walked. It was a gesture of fond familiarity, but not of intimacy. “If I may ask, how long have you and Nathaniel been lovers?”

“Not that long, actually, though it seems like forever, sometimes. We were very much at odds with each other at first, as you should know from my letters.”

“I will admit, I had heard a few rumours and stories about you and your lieutenant,” Teagan admitted. “But there are endless tales about the Hero of Ferelden, and only handful of them are true, and of those, only a few manage get the story right. When I met him, half-dressed, in your quarters, I knew the stories that you'd taken him as a lover must be at least a little bit true.”

“Oh, yes, the Hero of Ferelden gets up to all manner of things, from what I'm told,” she answered with a smirk. “I'm aware there are some stories about Nathaniel and myself. There are a lot of travelling merchants coming through Vigil's Keeps these days, and we're not at all discreet about our relationship. What have you heard?”

“The most common one I've heard is quite romantic. He came to kill you to seek revenge for murdering his father, but his father had murdered your family, you hated each other, you conscripted him as punishment, and then you fell into bed and into love and he dedicated his life to serving you and the Grey Wardens.”

“That's... not too far off, actually,” she answered with a laugh. “Though I didn't conscript him. He joined of his own free will. In fact, I tried to talk him out of it. And we were friends before we were lovers. Oh, and he never actually tried to kill me.”

“So there was no attempt on your life at all? Not even a scuffle?”

“He was in a cell in the dungeon, and I even opened the door to see if he'd try to escape or attack me, but he didn't make a move. The worst he did was insult me. After talking to him and getting his story, I let him go. I could understand why he was so angry, and I could see he didn't really understand what had happened, what his father had actually done, and I certainly couldn't justify executing him, nor did I see any reason to keep him imprisoned. He returned a few days later on his own, looked like he hadn't slept for days, and asked to join the Grey Wardens. I tried to talk him out of it. He insisted. I had actually considered conscripting him when he was in the dungeon, and I was desperate for more Grey Wardens, so I just thought if he really wanted to serve, I'd let him try, and, well, you know the rest.”

“You must admit, it is a good story. For what it's worth, there are also stories about you and Alistair, who generally does not fare well in the telling. There's one particular tavern song that seems to be rather popular, entitled, _Royal Bastard._ And there are some stories and tavern songs about us, too,” he added. “Those, however, are generally quite bawdy.”

“I can imagine!” she laughed. “My brother, Fergus, asked me about my association with you. When I confirmed, he wanted to know if you live up to your reputation.”

Teagan laughed, a rich, heartfelt, booming sound that was almost musical. “Did you tell him?”

“I was very complimentary. Fergus and I have always been open about these things, though there is a limit. He is my older brother, after all. So while I certainly didn't volunteer any specifics, I did confirm that your reputation and nickname are well-earned.”

“Well, thank you,” he responded with a lingering chuckle.

“This is a strange conversation to be having, don't you think?”

“Why? We're friends, aren't we?”

“I should hope so.”

“Rowan, please understand that I am truly happy for you. I always understood you were not mine to keep,” he said quietly, his voice soft and surprisingly tender. “I feel honoured and fortunate to have been with you at all. I'm also gratified to learn that I've been of some comfort to you, some help. I hope you and I will always remain friends.”

“Why wouldn't we?” she asked.

“Nathaniel isn't the jealous type? He did look as if he'd happily sink a blade into my vitals if I got too familiar with you.”

“He does look very fierce, doesn't he?” she acknowledged with a chuckle. “He isn't particularly jealous, though he is territorial. So long as you don't cross any inappropriate boundaries, he'll be fine. Nathaniel can be a real hardarse, but he's very disciplined and inherently decent.”

“Unlike his father.”

“Unlike his father,” she agreed. “There's not much of Rendon Howe in him, other than the Howe nose and the way he wears his facial hair.”

“You deserve some happiness, Rowan. Enjoy it,” Teagan said.

“Thank you.”

“No, thank _you_.”

“For what?”

“Everything. Saving Ferelden, saving my brother and my nephew and the people of Redcliffe, ending the Blight, being with me, commanding the Grey Wardens, saving Alistair from execution, dealing with what I hear was a very dangerous situation in Amaranthine, all of it.”

“Well, you're welcome,” she answered with a laugh, her face going hot. She decided to change the subject. “So, have you been seeing anyone?”

“No one significant. There are always women at court who are looking for a bit of entertainment, and I am, as you say, very entertaining. It's how I built my reputation, after all,” he answered with a wry smile. “It does seem to be my fate that the women who want to stay with me are never the ones I want to keep, and the few women I would have liked to keep are never available in that way.”

“I... Yes, I can see that would be a problem,” Rowan answered. “It is a bit of a shame, isn't it?”

“Indeed.” He turned his head and looked at her again, his expression wistful. “Being in love suits you. You haven't had that spark since... Well. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Alistair.”

“Oh, that,” she groaned. “I'd be a fool to take him under my command, Teagan. He abandoned the Grey Wardens during a Blight. I made a command decision after he insisted I take command, and then he refused to accept that. I won't have a known deserter in the ranks.”

Teagan sighed and reached up to rub the hand she had tucked into his arm. “I suspected that might be your reaction. Assuming I can even find him and he agrees to the conditions on his return to Ferelden, we both know he won't become a Chantry brother or a templar, but at the same time, I doubt very much that he'd want to face you, given what happened. I expect he'd become a soldier of Redcliffe or Rainesfere and keep a low profile. It's certainly what I would advise him to do. I only need for you to tell the queen you will agree to consider taking him under your command if everything comes to pass and he wants to return to the Grey Wardens.”

“So this is your idea as much the queen's? I suspected as much.”

“I may have put forward the idea, yes, but you know as well as I that Anora doesn't do anything she doesn't want to do, and she set the conditions and terms.”

“Alistair can rot in the Free Marches for all I care,” Rowan said sourly.

“Rowan, we both know you don't mean that. You've been as worried for him as I have. I understand you're still angry with him, and I know you feel betrayed –”

“I don't just _feel_ betrayed, Teagan. Alistair did betray his duty and the Grey Warden order, and he did it in front of the entire assembled bannorn! He's a deserter, and by most systems of military justice, he would be eligible for execution.”

“Anora was going to execute him, remember? You wouldn't allow it.”

“Yes, but I didn't... What is Anora thinking?” Rowan hissed. “Why would she think I'd have him back after what he did?”

“Anora is a consummate politician. She sees an advantage in having him in Ferelden, but she doesn't want him free to wander around unsupervised, so she came up with these restrictions. I doubt that she even thought about what he was to you, or the serious implications of what he did, or how you might feel about him now. She would never let her own personal feelings influence her, and she probably assumes the same of you. After all, if you took him back, you'd have a trained warrior and an experienced Warden who had already survived the Joining. She assumes that you would see that as an asset.”

“That's really not fair,” Rowan protested. “This is not just about my personal feelings. The more important thing to me is that he abandoned his duty, and it is only by the grace of the Maker or whatever gods and spirits look out for Grey Wardens that it did not end in tragedy for the entire world. I am not some petty girl who simply can't stand to see the fool who betrayed her and broke her heart.”

“No,” Teagan said firmly. He stopped walking and turned to her, putting his hands on her armoured shoulders for emphasis. “No, Rowan, I do understand your position completely, and I don't think you're petty. But you asked what Anora was thinking, and I'm trying to explain it, as I understand it. I don't blame you in the least for your reaction.”

Rowan worried her lower lip with her teeth as she avoided Teagan's gaze by studying the unremarkable architecture of the Denerim street. Having Alistair under her command was not something she ever would have ever imagined after the way he left the Grey Wardens. Teagan was correct, she did still sometimes worry about Alistair and wonder where he was and if he was all right. That, however, did not mean she was willing to have Alistair living at Vigil's Keep, or have to rely on him in a crisis.

In the long run, they first had to find Alistair, and then persuade him to return to Ferelden under Anora's restrictions. If that could be accomplished, Teagan was probably right, Alistair would not be interested in resuming his tenure with the Wardens. He'd probably be a lot happier serving in Redcliffe, far from Amaranthine, far from the Deep Roads, and far from Rowan. She probably had nothing to worry about.

“I will... consider it,” she said finally. “But you need to make it clear to him that he will not be welcome amongst the Grey Wardens. They will know who he is, and what he did, or rather what he failed to do, and I doubt very much he would get any sympathy or acceptance. I'm certain he would be much happier within your household than under my command. If it comes to it, tell him that.”

“As you wish,” Teagan answered with a smile.

Rowan said no more, but she knew he was smiling because he'd managed to persuade her to consider it, just as she'd known he would.

Charming bastard.

 


	39. Dinner with the Bann

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel and Rowan have dinner with Teagan.

When Teagan, Rowan, and Ser Barkley returned to the palace, it was nearly dinner time. Rowan roused up Sigrun and the two soldiers to let them know someone would escort them to the dining hall. She also cautioned them not to get too worked up, because other than a few banns and the occasional visiting arl, the dining hall normally hosted the household and minor guests, merchants and others with business at court, and the queen and her entourage and important guests ate either in Her Majesty's private dining room or in their quarters.

“I expect Her Majesty will request you dine with her soon,” Teagan noted as they entered the commander's suite.

“I expected as much,” Rowan answered, “although I didn't bring any formal outfits at all, so any of her more formal gatherings or receptions will have to do without me unless she wants me to turn up in my leathers or casual clothes.”

“I will mention it to Her Majesty,” Teagan said in his most courtly voice.

“Well, gentlemen,” Rowan announced to the room at large, “I'm going to change my clothes and wash up before dinner. Teagan, please, have a seat.”

“Do you want any assistance?” Nathaniel asked, quite indiscreetly, and Teagan hid a smile. The younger man was posturing, making his intimate relationship with Rowan absolutely, unmistakably clear, just in case it wasn't already. Staking his claim.

“Not at the moment, no,” she answered over her shoulder. Teagan caught a glimpse of the saucy smirk on her face and recognised it, though it was for Nathaniel now, and not for him.

“So, Teagan,” Nathaniel began after Rowan had gone into the bedroom and shut the door behind her. “I assume you were present at the infamous Landsmeet in which Alistair abandoned the Grey Wardens. What can you tell me about that? I've heard rumours and bits and pieces, and I got one eye witness account, but it was from a drunken dwarf who tends to exaggerate, so the accuracy of his account is in question. As second-in-command of the Grey Wardens, I'd like to know more about Alistair's desertion and the circumstances around it, especially given the letter you recently sent on the subject.”

Teagan suspected that Nathaniel also wanted to know for his own sake, but the bann didn't point that out.

“That Landsmeet was an ugly affair, as you can imagine. There were threats and insults and accusations and on all sides. Loghain deflected most of the charges, tried to justify others, and blamed a fair few of them on your father, who, by that time, was no longer alive to defend himself.”

Nathaniel shifted in his seat and Teagan stopped talking. Judging by the look on Howe's face, his father was a sore subject, but Nathaniel made a motion with his hand for Teagan to continue.

“Rowan brought forth witnesses to Loghain's various crimes and even Anora spoke against him. There was a duel to settle the dispute, according to the old ways and traditional rules, and Rowan fought Loghain herself, despite having the right to name a champion. Loghain was as arrogant as ever, and it was fairly clear he didn't consider her a particularly worthy opponent, but he paid dearly for that miscalculation when she brought him to his knees. She is a fierce fighter, and a dangerous adversary in all respects.”

“You don't have to tell me that.”

“Yes, I imagine you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?” Teagan responded with a smile. “After the duel, Loghain's life was in her hands. Alistair wanted to execute him for his crimes, but there was another Warden there, older man with an Orlesian accent, but I can't recall his name just now. He stepped up and suggested that they conscript Loghain into the Grey Wardens rather than execute him, as there were compelling reasons to have as many Wardens on hand as possible to fight the archdemon. His argument was convincing, and Rowan was most definitely swayed.”

“I can see why she would be. She is a pragmatic woman.”

“Indeed. Anora, of course, wanted to see her father's life spared, even though she had spoken out against him in the Landsmeet. Alistair was furious. He started shouting that he should be made king so that he could properly execute justice and a few other entirely inappropriate statements that made it obvious to everyone present that he was no king, Theirin blood or not. Anora pointed this out to the entire Landsmeet, naturally.”

“From what I know of him, he would not have made a good king,” Nathaniel said coldly.

“Possibly not, but had things gone differently, and had Rowan remained by his side along with trustworthy advisors, I think the two of them could have made something of the monarchy. With her charisma and sense of duty and pragmatism and his idealism and charm, they could have been a force to be reckoned with, but... Well, it doesn't matter now, does it?”

“No,” Nathaniel said rather more vehemently than was necessary, especially when answering what was intended to be a rhetorical question. Teagan suppressed a smile. It seemed that Howe was more than a little uncomfortable with the idea of Rowan and Alistair together.

“Rowan was clearly shocked by Alistair's reaction,” Teagan continued. “She would never talk about it in detail with me, though I offered to listen, so I don't know what was going on in her thoughts, but she was very obviously taken aback. She seemed to hesitate, and then made the decision to conscript Loghain, probably because she is, as you say, a pragmatic woman and she saw that he might be of use, and that sparing him could give the Grey Wardens not only another Warden to help fight the archdemon, but political favour from the widow of the late king. Undoubtedly, she expected to be able to discuss the matter with Alistair later, but Alistair issued an ultimatum. He told her that if she allowed Loghain to take the Joining, Alistair would refuse to continue to serve the order.”

Nathaniel's eyebrows shot up. “He... Truly? I heard he had what has been described as a tantrum, and that he refused to listen to her reasoning. But he actually gave Rowan Cousland an ultimatum? In _public?_ ”

“He did,” Teagan confirmed with a sigh. “And, as you can imagine, she did not take it well. She pressed on with her decision, and Alistair stood his ground, probably for the first time in his life. It's something of a pity that was the exact moment he found his spine, but there it was. He announced that he was leaving the order, and leaving her. Some of the things he said in open court were embarrassingly personal, and left no one with any doubt as to the nature of their relationship. I don't think he intended to humiliate her, but I am certain she felt humiliated. I suspect that's part of why she's still so angry at him.”

“Yes,” Nathaniel agreed. “I've been trying to get her to let go, and she's made some strides with that, but she is still deeply hurt and she cannot or will not release it. I suspect she stays angry because if she stopped being angry, it would just be pain, and she's far better able to cope with anger.”

“That is an astute observation. It seems that you have found ways to get her to open up to you. Be careful with that. She is more vulnerable than she allows anyone to see.”

“I know,” Nathaniel said quietly, seriously.

“Good man,” Teagan said, and Nathaniel looked him in the eye. Teagan smiled slightly, and gave a small nod. Nathaniel frowned slightly, but then nodded in return.

 

~*~

 

“So there she was,” Teagan was explaining over dessert, telling a story from the time Rowan had spent at the palace in Ferelden, “the lauded Hero of Ferelden, all dressed up in a green silk gown, and she was, of course, unarmed, or so she should have been. She did, however, have a dagger strapped to her leg.”

Rowan chuckled. “I never go unarmed if I can avoid it. Too many assassins about.”

“An Antivan lord, a fairly important one, managed to back Rowan into a corner, and would not take no for an answer. I don't know what the man was trying to negotiate, but whatever it was, it was clear to everyone but the Antivan that she wasn't interested. She kept trying to get away from him, but he was quicker than he looked, and he kept blocking her escape. She could have gotten away from him easily, of course, had she not been at a royal function where physical violence against visiting dignitaries or doing dive rolls and running off is not taken well. I eventually stepped in and managed to put on enough of a show that the Antivan backed off.”

“What did you do?” Nathaniel wanted to know.

“Antivans value romance, passion, big shows of emotion, drama, all that sort of thing. So I stepped up, took her hand, kissed it with a flourish and said something like, 'My darling! There you are! I've been waiting for you to be free all evening, and I can bear it no longer! My heart will surely break if you don't come away with me right now to walk in the moonlit gardens!'”

“And that worked, did it?” Nathaniel remarked dryly.

“It did, actually,” Rowan answered him. “I was rather surprised by that, myself, but the greasy bastard backed off and didn't trouble me further. I can tell you, before Teagan stepped in, I was trying to work out how to get to my blade without disgracing myself in public by hiking my skirt up indecently. I did learn that night that strapped to the leg under a heavy skirt is not the best place for a dagger. I have a fancy wrist bracer with a knife in it now,” she added with a smirk, “for wearing to court. I should have brought it with me, but I had you along, so I didn't think I'd need it.”

“And did you walk in the moonlit gardens?” Nathaniel asked.

“We did,” Rowan answered. “I thought we'd better do so to avoid offending the visiting lord, in case he or any of his retainers followed me. He really was that persistent. I think it must be an Antivan thing. So Teagan and I went for a walk, and then, of course, I had left the gathering for long enough that I could escape to my quarters.”

Teagan had also kissed her quite passionately in that moonlight and they'd dallied most indecently in a darkened alcove of the garden before he accompanied her to the very suite in which they were sitting, where he undressed her and took her to bed. Best not to mention that. Rowan had the faintest of smiles and was not making eye contact with either Teagan or Nathaniel, instead concentrating on the slice of layered cake before her. Howe was frowning in a way that let Teagan know that the younger man had probably worked out how that evening had ended.

“You had an Antivan companion, didn't you?” Teagan asked Rowan, changing the subject. “Blonde elf?”

“Indeed. Zevran Arainai, formerly of the infamous Antivan Crows until he defected to follow me around Ferelden for who knows what reason.”

“I can imagine his reasons,” Teagan said, but caught himself before he took the compliment any further. “But wasn't he originally hired to kill you?”

“Yes,” Rowan confirmed. “Obviously, he failed in his attempt, which was why he offered his services to me. We did eventually became close friends, as you saw for yourself.”

“Nathaniel,” Teagan said, turning to the younger man, “I heard a rumour that you, yourself, tried to kill the Warden-Commander. Might I hear your side of that story?”

“Teagan, that's not –” Rowan started to say, but Nathaniel held up his hand to stop her.

“Yes, all right,” Nathaniel said in a tone of voice that almost sounded like a challenge. “I had planned to kill her over the loss of my ancestral home and to avenge my father's death. I did have a change of heart, before she ever arrived, but I was caught sneaking around the Keep and held in one of the dungeon cells. Rowan, in her infinite wisdom and willingness to give the benefit of the doubt, decided to let me go. I was entirely bewildered by that. I was still furious, mind you, but I was also intrigued, and more than a little confused. She was... not what I expected. Eventually, I came back and asked to join the Grey Wardens.”

“May I ask why?” Teagan inquired.

“She was too confounding to leave behind.”

Rowan frowned. “I thought you joined to redeem your family name.”

“That, too,” Nathaniel answered. “But there are other ways to do that. You were... a puzzlement. I never could turn away from that kind of challenge.”

“So you joined the Grey Wardens because of me?” she asked.

“You could say that.”

Rowan looked at Nathaniel with an expression of surprised wonder, her cheeks flushing prettily. Nathaniel gazed back at her with a little smile and a look that was probably best described as adoration. Teagan suddenly felt as if he was intruding on something intimate, and turned his attention to the contents of his goblet.

“I think I might retire for the evening,” Teagan announced after he drained the wine from his cup. “It's been a pleasant evening, but I'm sure you two would like to be alone.”

“Yes,” Nathaniel agreed bluntly, “I believe we would.”

Rowan said nothing, but she did roll her eyes at Nathaniel with a blush and a hint of a smile. Teagan knew her well enough to see that she rather liked Howe's dominant posturing.

“Well, then, I shall take my leave, and you two can get back to whatever you were doing when I interrupted you this afternoon,” Teagan said as he got up from his chair. “If you put the dishes outside the door, I'll have someone come around to collect them. Do you want me to arrange for breakfast to be brought to your suite in the morning?”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Rowan answered, getting up to see him to the door, while Nathaniel came to his feet as a courtesy.

“Consider it done,” Teagan said with a smile. “Nathaniel, it's been a pleasure getting to know you. I expect we'll be seeing each other again while you're here in Denerim.”

With a flourish, Teagan turned to Rowan and took her hand, kissing the back of it, and then he looked her in the eye. “Good night, my dear Lady Cousland,” he said. “As has always been the case, the pleasure and the honour have been mine.”


	40. Alone at Last (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel and Rowan finally get some private time. 
> 
> NSFW, with some emotional stuff and a minor confession toward the end.

When Teagan had gone and Ser Barkley had been allowed to go outside to do what he must, Rowan and Nathaniel piled the dishes up outside the door and waited for the dog to come inside. After shutting the door and sliding the bolt, Nathaniel took Rowan's hands and kissed each one before pulling her into his arms to kiss her on the lips.

“Well, I can see the bann's appeal,” Nathaniel conceded. “He's quite charming.”

“He is. Or, he can be. He can also be a real hardarse when he wants to be.”

“So can you, Lady Bossyboots.”

She leaned against him, pressing her breasts into his chest as she planted kisses up the length of his neck, making his pulse quicken. “As can you,” she pointed out. “But, right now, I don't feel especially bossy.”

“Are you hinting at something?” he asked with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“Mmm... could be.”

“Tell me, minx,” Nathaniel said quietly, “did you and your charming bann have sex in this suite when you were lovers?”

She frowned. “Yes... Why?”

“I would assume you made use of the bedroom. What about the sitting room?”

“Are you asking for intimate details? That's not very like you.”

“Oh, I just need the basic information for tactical purposes.”

“Tactical?” she repeated incredulously with a small laugh. “What are you on about?”

“I want to know so that I can make love to you in the bed, in the chair, on the floor, up against the wall, bent over the desk, wherever I need to in order to replace all those memories of him with memories of me.”

Rowan let her head fall back as she laughed, and he tightened his grip on her waist to keep them both balanced. Maker, but he loved it when she laughed.

“Nathaniel Howe, I think you're jealous,” she asserted.

“I'm territorial,” he corrected. “And I intend to mark my territory here, with you.” And remind you that you're _mine_ , he added in his head, though he didn't say it out loud.

“Mmmmm, all right, then. Yes, anywhere and everywhere you like. Without volunteering intimate details of my past relationship with Teagan, I will say that he is a creative lover, and he's known as the Bannhammer for a reason, so, yes. Take me on the table and bent over a chair and in the bed every way you can think of and everywhere else. I will neither confirm nor deny that Teagan and I did any of those things, but, yes, please. Everywhere.”

“Everywhere...” Nathaniel repeated, and then smirked as a whole host of deliciously erotic thoughts rushed through his head, making his cock begin to stiffen. “We'll only be here a couple of weeks at most, so that's quite a good challenge, but it's a small suite and I think we can manage it.”

Nathaniel wrapped his arms around her, one arm under her backside, the other around her waist, and scooped her off her feet, making her gasp with surprise and then giggle. She was wearing a simple dress, and he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to quite literally lift her skirt. He sat her down on the edge of the stout wooden table, then reached up and put his hand on the back of her neck and pulled her face to his to kiss her hungrily. She responded just as hungrily, sucking at his lips, moaning softly as she leaned forward to wrap her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss, opening her mouth to his probing tongue and responding with her own.

He pressed his body close to hers as he worked his other hand up under her skirt, caressing lightly with his fingertips as he went. At the same time, he moved his mouth along her jaw and then her neck, kissing and very gently biting her skin. Maker, he was hungry for her! Sleeping apart from her had been uncomfortable. Sleeping with her but unable to touch her the way he wanted to had been almost painful. And then this afternoon, they'd been interrupted...

“Help me get your knickers off,” he told her, “and spread your legs for me.”

“Oh, yes, ser,” she responded enthusiastically as she squirmed from one buttock to the other while he dragged her underpants off of her and threw them to the side, along with her slippers, before bringing his hand back between her legs to stroke his fingertips lightly along her slit. She whimpered. He chuckled, and stroked her more deliberately, sliding his finger between her folds in an erotic caress that made her shudder and made his cock even harder.

“Oh, _ser_ , is it? Yes, I like that. You can call me ser. Or _my lord_ ,” he told her as he rubbed two fingers slowly down her cunt and then back up. “You're very wet, minx. Do you want me that much?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, ser,” he corrected as he withdrew his hand to undo the laces on his breeches. He still had his boots on, so the breeches and his underpants got pushed down his thighs, but no farther. He pulled her skirt up and out of the way before taking his erection in hand. He rubbed it against her slick, warm flesh, teasing her, and pleasuring himself, as well.

“This what you want?” he asked, his voice deep, husky with arousal. “Now?”

“Yes, ser,” she breathed. “I want it.”

He grunted, and guided himself inside of her, gave one quick, hard thrust, and then got one hand on her arse and the other around her back to keep her steady.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he ordered, and she did, locking her feet at the ankles.

He started to move his hips and she gave a gasp of pleasure. Her arms went around him, one hand on his shoulder, the other around his back, and she clung to him, moaning and occasionally kissing him on the neck or the face as he ground his pelvis against hers, his cock pressing deep inside of her.

Maker, it was amazing having her wrapped around him. Her legs, her arms, her wonderful, warm, wet cunt, all of her. She clung to him, panting, moaning, the most beautiful and sexy sounds imaginable as he kept up the hungry, urgent rhythm with his hips. He felt her start to tense, and heard the excited, desperate, whimpering moans in his ear that told him she was near a release, gripping his cock in a way that nearly made his eyes roll back in his head with pleasure. She seemed to be hovering right on the edge of that climax, and he realised she was deliberately holding back.

“Do you want to come?” he asked her.

“Whatever you want... ser...”

“Ohhh, you're getting good at this,” he murmured in her ear. Pleasure coursed though him, and from far more than just their rutting. “You enjoy it, don't you? You like letting me take control.”

“Yes,” she panted. “Please... may I come? Ser...”

“Come for me,” he told her. He punctuated the command with a series of fast, hard, deep thrusts, catching her a little by surprise and stripping away any control she had left.

She arched her back and Nathaniel felt her tightening around his cock, squeezing him so hard he nearly saw stars. Maker, was he going to be able to hold back? Maybe not... maybe he didn't have to. As she came undone, he let go of his self-control and allowed himself to be overtaken by the exquisite, delicious erotic enjoyment of fucking Rowan Cousland, moaning aloud as he spilled himself inside of her while she panted, clinging to him, trembling slightly in his arms as she came down from her own orgasm.

He held her for what seemed like a long time, cherishing the moment. Cherishing her. Not for the first time, he knew he would never, ever get enough of this woman, and never get over her.

“I love to come together like that,” he said when he'd caught his breath. “It's so much easier when you actually come on command.” He remained standing where he had been, pressed up against her, his arms around her, his cock still inside her, though that wouldn't last much longer. She let her legs drop from his waist, but made no effort to move, so he just held her tightly and kissed her face a few times in different places.

“Mmmm, yes,” she agreed. “You told me it was a good skill to learn, and I took it to heart. And other parts.”

“So you did,” he chuckled. “You're very dedicated. Maker, this is a good table, though. Very sturdy. Didn't wobble at all.”

“Well, that's the table ticked off the list,” she said with a little laugh.

“Oh, I don't know about that. I haven't had you bent over it yet.”

“You're sexy when you're jealous.”

“I'm not...” he started to protest, and then sighed. “All right. Maybe. I've never been jealous, but... maybe I am now. A bit,” he admitted. “I don't mind when your many admirers admire you, but you have a history with Teagan, and you two are very clearly fond of one another, and that's... a bit difficult to watch. I do trust you, and I expect he's enough of a gentleman that he won't overstep his boundaries, but I see you together and I can't help but imagine... No matter. I intend to work through it by fucking you so much and so thoroughly that you will barely remember what it was like to be with him, and I won't have to think about it any more.”

Rowan burst out giggling and Nathaniel grinned.

“Whatever I can do to help,” she offered. “For now, though, I'm getting a little uncomfortable on the edge of the table like this. May I get down, please?”

“Yes, of course,” Nathaniel said, stepping back and helping her down, “but don't think I'm finished with you for the evening. Just give me a little while and then perhaps a bit of a helping hand, and we'll see what else we can get up to, maybe in the bed this time, hmm?”

“Oh, yes, ser,” she answered silkily.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said as she moved to put out the lamps while he tugged his breeches up so he could walk. “I'd quite like to get out of my clothes and between the sheets with you, if that suits you. There's plenty of territory you still need to cover.”

“Saucy minx.”

 

 


	41. A Morning in Denerim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel and Rowan go shopping. 
> 
> Okay, it's mostly fluff. It's not the first time, it won't be the last. There is some slightly racy stuff, but nothing graphic. (But it does set up later things.)

“Sweetheart, breakfast.”

Rowan mumbled something and turned over in the bed and slowly opened her eyes. It took her a moment to place where she was. Denerim, at the palace. And, of course, she was alone in the bed, as she always was in the morning here. Then she realised the voice she'd heard was Nathaniel, and he'd certainly stayed with her all night. He probably just woke instantly when breakfast was delivered.

“There's a note for you, too, from the queen.”

“I'll be right there,” Rowan managed to say, and pulled herself out of bed and into the short corridor that led to the suite's privy. After that, she washed her hands and face and threw on the thin dressing gown she'd packed. She didn't bother to put on any underclothes, since she'd be dressing properly later, probably after having a good wash.

“What do we have?” she asked as she plopped into a chair. Nathaniel, unshaven and shirtless, was seated at the table, his dark hair loose around his face and shoulders. He looked content, even happy, and it made Rowan happy to look at him.

“Scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, toasted bread, jam, and butter, all in very generous amounts. And two pots of tea.”

Rowan chuckled as she sat down. “Teagan always used to comment on my appetite. He found it amusing that I ate so much. I told him it was a Grey Warden thing, though I wasn't sure he believed me. But it seems he did, since he made sure there was a lot of food for two Grey Wardens.”

She dished food onto her plate while Nathaniel poured her a cup of tea, and then the two of them ate in companionable silence for a while.

“Did you say there was a note for me?” she asked as the food and the tea started to fuel her body and mind.

He handed it to her and she unfolded it carefully.

“Oh. Her majesty would like to speak with me in private with regard to reports that several banns and lords who went missing from the arling of Amaranthine just before the city was overtaken by darkspawn. Shit.”

“Hmm,” Nathaniel managed before he swallowed the food he had in his mouth. “I wondered if that incident would rear its ugly head at some point.”

“So did I,” Rowan admitted as she folded the note back up and set it safely aside.

“What are you going to tell her?”  
  
“Well, my preference would be the truth. It was entirely self-defence, and they were mounting a full conspiracy to kill me. They even went so far as to instigate a peasant rebellion and hire Antivan Crows! But I still feel somewhat responsible for all of that. I should have investigated sooner, gotten to the bottom of it before...” She sighed and put another helping of eggs on her plate. “Keeping it quiet seemed like a good idea at the time, given the situation with the darkspawn and all, but when it was over, I should have said something. Ah, well. Water under the bridge now. I'll just have to see how it goes. Anora has always been perfectly reasonable with me, though she does always have her own agenda. She is a politician, after all.”

“Indeed. When does she want to meet with you?”

“After dinner this evening. She hasn't included a dinner command. I mean, invitation. She does know we came here for business of our own, though I expect she'll want me to attend a few dinners and possibly some diplomatic reception while I'm here. Joke's on her, though, as I didn't bring any formal clothes at all because you can't shove a formal gown and all the trimmings into a backpack. As I said to Teagan, unless Anora wants me to turn up in my leathers or a plan tunic and breeches, she's going to have to do without me.”

“I doubt I'd be invited to anything like that,” Nathaniel commented mildly, “with the dishonour my family name carries now.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.”

“Hmm? Not your fault, sweetheart.”

“I know, but it must be difficult for you to be here at court. I'm sorry I wasn't more sensitive.”

“It's fine. I'm here as the Lieutenant Commander of the Grey, a position which demands at least grudging respect. And I'm sleeping with the Hero of Ferelden. That's got to count for something,” he said with a smirk as he spread jam on a piece of toast. “So, what's on the agenda for today?”

“I don't think anything is,” Rowan answered. “We weren't sure what would be happening or when we might arrive, so I didn't schedule anything. Tomorrow we're meeting with your sister and some of the Drydens, though.”

“Of course. Sigrun will have to come along. She has all the measurements and the decorating notes. I believe you gave her the measurements for your office and the master suite?”

“Yes. Though I intend to have local carpenters build the new shelves and desk and so forth for my office, once we get the old stuff out. The room could still use some new carpets and maybe a tapestry or two for the walls.”

“If you're finished eating, shall we get washed up and see about getting dressed? Or maybe I might get you back in bed for a while and then wash up and get dressed?”

“Oh, there's an idea,” Rowan answered with a smile. “Doesn't have to be in bed, though. You wanted to do it everywhere, didn't you? I happen to know that chair right over there is quite sturdy.”

Nathaniel stood up and started unlacing his breeches. “Every day I think I can't possibly love you more, and every day I am surprised to find I do. Now, untie that dressing gown and let's see what we can do.”

 

~*~

 

“Ah, it's still here,” Nathaniel said with a smile. “Still in business, after all these years. That's a relief. I'd hate to have had to start asking around.”

“What is this place?” Rowan asked. The shop was so unassuming as to be not recognisable as a shop. It looked more like someone's home. She considered the neighbourhood, an upper class one, but more commercial than residential, and then wanted to know, “Is this a brothel?”

“No,” Nathaniel answered with a grin. “It's Madame Furline's shop. Just up the street, there is actually a very discreet, high class brothel that caters to the nobility, assuming it's still in business. We can go look when we're finished here, if you like. They do offer entertainments other than the obvious.”

“You're not serious.”

He shrugged. “Drinking and gambling isn't exactly the most scandalous way we could pass the time. They also offer special rooms that they rent by the hour. Mirrors, deep tubs, all kinds of interesting equipment...”

“Well, the tubs and mirrors sound all right. Not sure if I want to know about the equipment. And I'm fairly certain that I don't want to know how you know this, though I expect it's to do with your scandalous youth as a young, bored nobleman.”

He grinned and gave her a quick kiss, and then opened the door to the shop. A bell tinkled as the door was opened, and Rowan stepped into what looked for all the world like a respectable lady's sitting room. A woman appeared through a door toward the back of the room. She was middle aged and slightly plump, with perfectly styled hair and impeccable makeup, dressed in an Orlesian style gown of black and red silk. Madame Furline, no doubt.

“How may I serve you today, my lord?” the woman asked in a cultured Ferelden accent. She glanced at Rowan and added, “My lady?”

Nathaniel stepped forward with his _I'm in charge here_ bearing and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, handing it to Madame.

“Oh, a list,” Madame said with a carefully cultivated smile. “Very convenient, my lord. Saves time going back and forth to the store room.” The woman looked over the list. “Yes, we have all of these items in stock now. A few have colour choices and other options. Would you care to step into the back?”

“Yes,” Nathaniel answered. He turned to Rowan and said, “You come along. You can have a say.”

“Oh, thank you, my lord” she answered, though she smirked at him sarcastically as she said it. He generally kept this sort of dominance in a private setting, but strangely, she didn't especially mind, at least, not in a shop like this. She was beginning to suspect why it was so very discreet and no wares on display and no sign was at the front.

The back room turned out to be a sumptuously decorated parlour done in red velvet and polished cherry wood. There was a very large, brass-framed mirror on one wall, the kind one might find in an expensive tailor or dressmaker shop, and a curtained area in a corner, so Rowan assumed they must sell garments... of some sort.

Nathaniel seated himself on the velvet-covered couch and patted the spot beside him as Madame disappeared through a door into what Rowan assumed was the storage room. Nathaniel slipped an arm around her shoulders as she sat down and leaned over to kiss her on the corner of the mouth.

“So, you made a list?” Rowan asked quietly as they waited.

“I did. I didn't want to forget anything.”

Rowan looked at the two of them in the big mirror. They looked good together, like they belonged together. Nathaniel with his olive complexion, nearly black hair, and aquiline nose, Rowan with her peaches and cream skin and her full lips, he with his broad shoulders and long neck, she with her slim but femininely curved and well-muscled figure. Maybe it was their similar noble upbringing, or their bearing as Grey Wardens, but Rowan thought, rather romantically, that they looked so good together because they were in love and so very well suited to one another. Two sides of the same coin, as Nathaniel had so eloquently put it.

“Do you like the mirror?” he asked.

“I was just thinking what a handsome couple we are.”

“Hmm. When the master suite is finished, we might make use of the three-way mirror in the dressing room. I know you must have seen it.”

“Yes, but... honestly, I didn't think what you're thinking...”

“But you're thinking it now,” he said quietly, sensually, putting his mouth near her ear. Rowan watched in the mirror as he leaned in. “We could get a chair in there and...”

Madame chose that moment to return. She gave no indication that she'd caught them in a bit of an intimate moment as she placed a box of items on the cherry wood table near the wall.

“Scarves,” Madame announced, and held out an assortment of hemmed silks in a variety of colours.

“Colour preferences?” Nathaniel asked Rowan. “The list specifies six.”

“Oh, uh, they're all pretty. What are they... for?”

Madame raised an elegantly groomed eyebrow and looked at Nathaniel with the faintest of smiles, and then busied herself by very carefully inspecting the list and the items she'd brought out.

“Oh, there are plenty of uses for good silk scarves,” Nathaniel told Rowan. Then he leaned in very close and whispered, “But mostly, I want to tie you to bedposts and tease you before I pleasure you senseless, and I might blindfold you, as well. How does that sound?”

Rowan made a little noise in her throat as arousal blossomed powerfully between her legs. She thought of responding with, _yes, my lord_ , but only managed to nod.

Nathaniel turned back to Madame. “The lady thinks they're all nice, so let's have a rainbow. Red, orange, green, blue, yellow, purple.”

“Very good, my lord,” Madame said crisply as she set the scarves aside. “Would my lord care to inspect these other items?”

“Yes, but some are meant to be a surprise,” he said as he got up and walked over to the sideboard where the items had been placed. He nodded occasionally, murmuring to Madame. Rowan caught sight of a rather large feather, and a couple or three jars, and some other items she couldn't place or see properly. Nathaniel certainly seemed to know what he wanted, though, so she sat back and waited quietly. Submissively, one might even say.

And for reasons she still didn't entirely understand, it was a relief to just be able to sit quietly in a beautifully appointed room, not deciding anything, not choosing anything, not issuing any orders, not even think about anything of any great importance.

Nathaniel concluded his discussion with Madame, coin was exchanged, and the shopkeeper proceeded to fold the scarves and pack the other items into a neat parcel with plain brown wrapping, which she then put into a small cloth bag with handles.

“Enjoy your purchases,” she said with just a slightly suggestive tone of voice. “And do come again.”

As they left the shop, Rowan said, “That was an interesting experience. And, come again? I didn't even come once.”

Nathaniel laughed. “Saucy! Don't worry, minx, I'll see to that later. For now, shall we get something to eat? We can try the brothel... no? All right, fine, there must be a decent tavern nearby. After that, you wanted to go to a book store, didn't you? Books for the Keep's general library, wasn't it?”

“You're in very good form,” Rowan commented with a laugh. “Neither serious nor scowling! I've never seen you so... lighthearted. Having fun, are you?”

He shrugged. “It's a long time since I was a lord in Denerim. I am rather enjoying it. So long as no one recognises the nose and figures out my last name, or notices that the lovely lady on my arm is the great Hero of Ferelden and start clamouring for your blessing or something, I think it will be a very enjoyable day.”

He kissed her firmly on the mouth and offered her his arm, and she smiled as she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.

“An enjoyable day, indeed,” she agreed with a smile.


	42. An Afternoon in Denerim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan buys books, and Nathaniel buys a ring. 
> 
> Still fluffy, but, again, setting the stage for later events.

 

After asking around, Rowan and Nathaniel found a well-stocked general book store, and Rowan busied herself finding appropriate materials for the Keep's common library. She said she wanted recreational books, and books to distract and to absorb attention, as a respite from the grim reality of being a Grey Warden. Some reference books would be good, too, if she came across any that seemed useful or interesting.

Nathaniel suggested one by Varric Tethras, _Hard in Hightown_ , which was set in the Free Marches city of Kirkwall. Rowan found that there were other books by Tethras available, as well, and they looked interesting enough.

“I have some personal business to see to,” Nathaniel said quietly as Rowan was perusing a quarterly missive of suspect virtue. She looked up, startled, a slightly guilty look on her face and snapped the book shut.

“Without me?” she asked.

“Well... yes. It's a surprise.”

“Oh, I see,” she answered with a smirk. “Yes, fine, go attend. Meet me back here. I expect I'll be a while.”

“Fine,” he answered and kissed her on the cheek before striding out the door.

The jeweller he'd seen up the street was dwarven. That was a good sign. Dwarves worked metal like no other in Thedas, and the signage indicated that this particular dwarf was a master craftsman. Nathaniel stepped into the shop and had a look at the items in their display cases to get a sense of the craftsman's style, which he definitely liked.

“Hello, my lord, my name is Helga, how may I be of service?” greeted the pretty, blonde dwarven woman behind the customer counter after Nathaniel looked up from the displays.

“I need a ring made,” Nathaniel answered as he approached the counter.

“For a lady?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you know the size?”

“Yes,” he smiled, pulling a ring out of his pocket. “This fits perfectly on the finger I want this ring on.” He pulled the jewel out of his pocket and handed it to the blonde dwarf, who pulled out a tool from under the counter to measure the size.

Nathaniel was particularly pleased with himself for this bit of information gathering. He had sat down one evening and had a look through Rowan's jewellery on the pretence of idle curiosity and a bit of boredom, and he had made her try on this and that piece as a game. He had, in fact, been surprised to find that most of the items had been gifts from the queen, including the emerald and pearl drop earrings she'd worn the night of the formal meeting with the Amaranthine banns and nobles. Apparently, the earrings had belonged to Queen Rowan, which is why Anora had chosen them as a gift.

The ring the dwarf was handing back to him was silverite, set with an oval, cabochon cut greenstone. It was a favourite of Rowan's, and when she wore it, it was on the third finger of her left hand because, she said, that was the finger on which it fit.

Nathaniel suspected the ring had sentimental value, as she'd mentioned it was one of the few items she had on her when she escaped the massacre at Highever Castle. He'd often wondered if it was a gift from her first love, a promise ring of some sort, but she had never volunteered and he didn't want to pry. She was open about most things, but Rory was a subject she kept to herself for the most part.

“And what did you have in mind?” the dwarf asked as she jotted down a note and looked up at Nathaniel with a smile.

“It needs to be something with the stone or stones set down into the metal in a way that makes the ring something that could be worn under gloves or gauntlets. The metal should be sturdy, not prone to scratches or dings or dents. And the stones should be hard enough that they're not likely to shatter or crack if exposed to blows.”

“Ah, your lady is a warrior, then? You've come to the right place. Master Korran is well versed in such designs. Do you want an enchantment on it? It will take longer and cost more, but we can arrange a variety of options. Protection, luck, agility, various elemental defences...”

“I hadn't considered an enchantment. That's an excellent idea. It will encourage her to actually keep it on her finger. I think a moderate protection enchantment would suit.”

“Based on your description, I think a silverite ring with a few brilliant channel set stones would be good, though we could go with a more colourful metal like dawnstone or drakestone or lazarite if you prefer. For the stones, diamond would be best, and while most people think of diamonds being white, there are actually pink, yellow, and other colours. Even black, though those are rare. There are other stones we can consider, as well, of course, but this is my recommendation based on your requirements. Just keep in mind that any stone we use in a design of this sort will necessarily be somewhat small and the light won't reach it the same way it would in a more open setting, so any colour it may have won't be shown to great advantage.”

Nathaniel was impressed. “Silverite is a good choice,” he answered. “As for the stones, I'd be happy with white diamonds.”

“The diamonds should have good clarity and a faceted cut so when the light does catch them, they sparkle. We probably have appropriate diamonds in stock, but they're in a guarded warehouse, not here in the shop. If you want to see them, you'll have to come back later.”

“You clearly know your trade,” Nathaniel said, “and I trust you on this. The fact is, the lady in question is shopping nearby and I don't want to be away too long, as this is meant to be a surprise. If we can settle a price and arrangements to receive the finished ring, that would be good. Do you offer a courier service?”

“We can arrange a courier, yes, though there's a fee for that. Where would the courier be going?”

“Vigil's Keep, in Amaranthine, just off the Pilgrim's Path.”

“Vigil's... Wait, are you a Grey Warden?”

“I am.”

“And this ring, is it... it's not for the Hero of Ferelden, by any chance?”

“Ahh... yes... it is...” Nathaniel answered uncertainly.

“Oh, my,” the blonde dwarf said excitedly, waving her hands. She turned to the side and shouted into the work area. “Master Korran, come and meet this customer. He's a Grey Warden, and he's wanting a ring as a gift for the Hero of Ferelden! Come and talk to him!”

Korran turned out to be middle-aged, with a long, ash-blonde braided beard and hair pulled back into thick plait. He wore a heavy workman's apron and some sort of covering over his eyes that looked like a shield made of glass. He lifted the eye shield and looked at Nathaniel.

“Hero of Ferelden, eh?” the dwarf said gruffly. “She's a hero in Orzammar as well as on the surface, you know that? What's the ring for?”

“Ahh... It's a token of my affection.”

“Your affection, eh? You're the one in the stories, I take it? Young lord who came to avenge his father's death but ended up pledging his love to the Hero and his life to the Grey Wardens?”

“I... suppose I am,” Nathaniel conceded with a slight frown. “Uh, how do you know...?”

“Oh, there are always stories. Bards and wandering minstrels tell many tales of the Hero of Ferelden. This is the latest, very popular right now. How do you not know this?” Master Korran asked with a frown.

“I don't get out to hear bards very often,” Nathniel admitted. “Too busy with Grey Warden duties. I did know there were stories, of course, but...”

“The Hero of Ferelden saved us all,” Helga said reverently. “We can't charge you for this. No, no, don't argue with me. Please, let this be a small token of appreciation for what she did for us all.”

“Aye,” Korran agreed firmly. “And she deserves my best work. We'll put a few extra enchantments on, too. Good things. Luck and suchlike. Protections. It'll be grand, a jewel fit for a hero, and a lady. It will be a token of our esteem, and your affection.”

Nathaniel was speechless. He was aware that the Hero of Ferelden was a figure of great admiration, but he'd never seen this kind of attitude from complete strangers. Rowan mostly kept a low profile and tried not to attract a lot of attention to herself, although some people still fell all over themselves when they realised who she was. In fact, now that he thought of it, he couldn't remember if she ever referred to herself as the Hero of Ferelden in any way other than self-mockingly.

Seeing Nathaniel hesitate, Helga explained, “Making an enchanted jewel for the Hero of Ferelden will be excellent for our business. Master Wade made armour for her, you know, and it did wonders for his reputation.”

“Master Wade has made armour for many of the Wardens and soldiers of Vigil's Keep,” Nathaniel acknowledged. “I had wondered what drew him there, honestly. He said it was to serve the Wardens, and that's certainly true, but I hadn't considered the prestige he would gain and how that would affect his business. Interesting.”

“Oh, yes,” Helga said, “a craftsman's reputation can be greatly enhanced by having an impressive client list. They don't get much more impressive than the Hero of Ferelden!”

“She is impressive,” Nathaniel agreed.

Rowan probably wouldn't approve of him accepting a gift of this nature, but it was clear that these people genuinely wanted to do this, and it was also true that he wanted to get Rowan a splendid ring. If she ever did agree to marry him, he'd be ready with it. And if enough time passed and she never did, he'd give it to her as a Satinalia gift or for the anniversary of when they became lovers or something.

“I... If you insist,” Nathaniel eventually said to the dwarves. “Thank you.”

“Oh, no, thank you for this opportunity,” the dwarven woman answered enthusiastically. Master Korran nodded in agreement, and the three of them got to the business of designing Rowan's ring. It would be weeks before it was ready, but they'd send it to Vigil's Keep by armed courier for delivery to the Lieutenant Commander of the Grey, with a provision that Secretary Varel or Captain Garevel could receive the package if Nathaniel was unavailable or away on mission.

Nathaniel also purchased a pre-made gold necklace that had caught his eye in the display case. He chose it – and absolutely insisted on paying for it – partly because he thought it suited her, suited them, but also so that if she wondered what he'd been doing, he would have something to show for his time.

With genuine thanks, Nathaniel took the small package and stepped out of the shop. When he slipped back into the book store, Rowan was arranging delivery for the books she'd selected, though she tucked one into her pack for her own reading.

“What excellent timing you have, my lord,” she said with a smile. “And now, I think we should get back to the palace and get sorted out for dinner. I was just planning on eating in the main dining hall, and I have to go and speak to the queen after. Not looking forward to that.”

“You'll be fine,” Nathaniel reassured her as he offered his arm. “It's probably just a formality.”

“You don't know Anora very well,” Rowan answered as they stepped into the street. “She never does anything without having some ulterior motive.”

 


	43. A Conversation with the Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan and Anora have a chat.

The note had specified that Rowan should meet Anora at the stables. Rowan was handed into a carriage, a very non-descript, decidedly non-royal looking one that would draw exactly no attention on the streets of Denerim or, for that matter, anywhere else in Ferelden. She only waited a few minutes before Anora arrived.

“So,” Anora said with a smile as the carriage lurched forward and began to move, “how go things at Vigil's Keep? I understand you're doing extensive repairs with the many donations the Wardens have received after saving the city of Amaranthine. Well done on that, by the way.”

Her Majesty had arranged for the carriage ride for privacy, she said, with no chance of being overheard. The footmen were well away from the windows, which were closed against the cool night air, anyway, and the driver was seated up front, of course, plus the noise of the horses and the creaking of the carriage would mask any conversation they had. Why Anora thought her chambers in the palace were not secure, Rowan didn't know, nor did she ask. Perhaps Anora was getting as paranoid as her father had been. Perhaps she had reason to suspect she was being spied on. Or perhaps she just enjoyed a ride in the evenings and liked private conversations.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Rowan answered.

“No, no, you call me by my name when we're in private. I'm used to being called by my title, but there are so few who will call me Anora these days. Teagan and Eamon do, but they are, of course, my late husband's uncles, so there is that familiarity. Even when I ask people to call me by my name, they baulk.”

“I know what you mean, Anora,” Rowan answered sincerely. “There's only one person at Vigil's Keep who uses my first name. Everyone else calls me... well, Commander, mostly. But also _ser_ , _my lady_ , and one particularly familiar Warden who calls me _boss_.”

“Would that Warden be your lieutenant, by any chance?”

“My lieutenant is the one person who calls me Rowan, but usually only in private.”

“I see. We shall speak more of him later,” the blonde woman said, making Rowan wonder what in Thedas Anora was up to. “First,” Anora announced, “I would like to discuss the disappearance of a few banns and nobles from the arling you now rule.”

“Ah.” Rowan didn't say any more, and was not inclined to volunteer any information at this point. She didn't know what Anora wanted, but she knew to be cautious.

“Apparently, there were several. The general consensus is that they were caught up in the battles with the darkspawn that ranged across the arling.”

“The conflict was widespread,” Rowan explained. “It was... I don't know how much I can tell you about the specifics, but it was a very unusual... uprising. Unprecedented, even. The darkspawn we were dealing with were extremely dangerous and highly virulent, and while they were most concentrated in the city of Amaranthine and at Vigil's Keep, they were absolutely all over, and there were only a handful of Grey Wardens to deal with them. We did the best we could with the resources we had available.”

“Oh, I know that,” Anora said in a reassuring tone. “You're very dedicated and very mindful of your duty as a Grey Warden. You would certainly do what you must to end the threat. The problem is primarily that Bann Esmerelle's son, Esdon, has been making some noise and accusations about how the Grey Wardens must have done something to his mother and others. A few other family members have also voiced concerns, no doubt following his lead, or even having been put up to it by him. Esdon seems to feel there was some conspiracy afoot.”

Rowan snorted. “As if I have the time or the interest in conspiring against petty nobles.”

“Quite. I said something similar, though in more diplomatic terms,” Anora said with a bit of a chuckle. “I suggested rather strongly that since the city of Amaranthine was his mother's bannorn, she was probably killed in the battle there. I'm told they never found her body, but hers is not the only body that was never found, and that was the case during the Blight, as well. And so many of the dead had to be burned right away, to stop the blight sickness from spreading, so who can say?”

“Indeed,” Rowan answered carefully. “And in some who survive the initial attack but develop blight sickness, they can wander away in their growing madness and, of course, eventually die. These things are not unknown.”

“Yes. But I am curious about the other nobles. All of the missing lords and freeholders were known to be close associates of the previous arl. None of them are any loss to Ferelden as far as I am personally concerned, and the Crown will be happy to see their holdings passed on to appropriate inheritors. But let's leave that aside for the moment.”

Rowan tensed. Here it came.

“Bann Teagan tells me that he has made you aware of my dilemma with your former... colleague, Alistair. The uprising in his name, all of that. Teagan suggested that we bring Alistair back to Ferelden in order to keep an eye on him, for his own protection as well as mine, and I agreed, with some requirements and restrictions. You are aware of all of this, yes? Good. I want your assurance that you would be willing to comply, should Alistair return to Ferelden and decide to return to the Grey Wardens.”

Rowan frowned slightly, trying to work out what Anora was doing, why she wanted this so much. It would be a simple matter for Rowan to simply assure Anora that she would agree, should it come to that, but that wasn't how this game was played. As much as Rowan hated this kind of politicking, as a Cousland, she was well trained in it. So, Anora wanted her to agree. Let's see what sort of threats or offers she was going to make in order to secure that, and perhaps Rowan could work out why Anora wanted this so badly.

“I would be a fool to trust Alistair, given that he deserted at an utterly crucial time,” Rowan said earnestly. “I'm sure you understand this.”

“Of course,” Anora answered smoothly. “And I know you might have more personal reasons for not wanting him near, though from what I hear, you've moved on. The prudent thing to do would be for me to have him hunted and assassinated, but I made a promise to you in front of the entire assembled bannorn that I would not have Alistair executed, and I will never forget that you spared my father and allowed him the opportunity to redeem himself and die a hero rather than a war criminal. But I am presented with a bit of a problem.”

“Anora, if Alistair comes back under my command, I cannot guarantee that he will not desert the Grey Wardens again,” Rowan argued, taking a different tack. “I've lost two Wardens already, one a confirmed deserter, and the other disappearing under highly suspicious circumstances that were probably desertion. If Alistair decided to bolt, there would be little that could be done to stop him in the long run, short of keeping him under lock and key, which I would not be inclined to do.”

“Yes, I understand, and I've already considered that,” Anora answered smoothly. “I'll tell you the same thing I told Teagan and Eamon. If he did such a thing under your command, I would expect you to issue an arrest warrant immediately, and to notify the palace as soon as possible so that a royal arrest warrant could be issued as well, trackers sent, and bounties placed. Desertion would make him a criminal for violating the binding terms of his return, you see. As I'm sure you must be aware, bounty hunters are not always gentle. Assuming he survived his encounter with them, I would be well within my rights to imprison him, which I would certainly do.”

Alistair absconding and being killed by bounty hunters would certainly be a shrewd way for Anora to honourably get out of her promise not to have him killed, and if there was one thing Anora was, it was shrewd.

“Are you hoping that might happen?”

Anora laughed, apparently good naturedly. “Andraste's toenails, Rowan, what must you think of me? No, I don't especially wish him harm, but one must be prepared for any possibility. So long as he has renounced all rights to the throne for himself and any heirs, and remains a faithful Grey Warden, or a faithful soldier to Arl Eamon or Bann Teagan, or, for that matter a templar or a Chantry brother in good faith, I will have no reason to place a bounty on his head, and no quarrel with him. I only want him where he can be monitored and supervised, so that if some other upstarts decide to raise a rebellion against me, they won't be able to use his name as their rallying cry to draw others to their cause.”

“Why don't you just imprison him from the start?”

Anora sighed. “That was, in fact, my first impulse, but if I were to simply imprison Alistair, it would seem as if I am afraid of him, afraid of his potential claim to the throne, and that perception would make him a much more attractive rallying point for potential future uprisings. On the other hand, if I allow the would-be usurper back to his homeland, do nothing more than extract an oath to relinquish any claim to the throne and allow him to make good use of his skills on behalf of the nation, I demonstrate that I am neither afraid nor cruel, while I keep my very public promise not to have him killed.”

Anora was even more cunning than Rowan had previously known. Rowan still couldn't work out why her promise to take him back into the Grey Wardens was so important to the plan. Surely he could be managed by Eamon or Teagan. Why was the cooperation of the Commander of the Grey so important to Anora?

“I see you have considered every angle,” Rowan acknowledged, “but I still do not see any reason why I should have Alistair under my command, for reasons I've already given. An unreliable Grey Warden is no Grey Warden at all.”

“This is where the topic of conspiracies is very interesting,” Anora said, quite conversationally. “When Esdon started with his accusations, I really did have some agents investigate the situation quite thoroughly, and it seems that was actually a conspiracy, but it was against you, not the other way around, and it also appears that it was instigated by the very banns and nobles I was speaking of earlier. And while there is scant evidence, it does appear to be entirely plausible that at least some of the now-missing nobles made their way to Vigil's Keep shortly before the attack on Amaranthine. Is there any light you can shed on this speculation?”

“Very well,” Rowan conceded, understanding that she was not going to be able to stall further. “I am not inclined to lie to you, nor have I done. Yes, there was a conspiracy. I got wind of it, but I rather foolishly ignored it, because I had far more pressing business than dealing with squabbling, greedy, minor nobles who were disgruntled at having lost their corrupt lord and his special favours, and I honestly couldn't imagine they'd get very far with it. Bann Esmerelle was apparently leading the group, and they stirred the peasants into an uprising, which I managed to deflect. Later, I returned from a mission to find that the nobles were waiting for me in the hall at Vigil's Keep, led by Bann Esmerelle. It turned out they were armed and had with them a small company of hired assassins, though we didn't know that until after when we searched the bodies and found the evidence of their affiliation with the Antivan Crows. My seneschal took an assassin's crossbow bolt intended for me, and there was a battle. The conspirators, along with their hired assassins, were killed. Given the state of the arling and the very real darkspawn threat, the captain of my guard suggested that we keep things quiet for a while and that seemed wise, so that's what we did. But then, very soon after, word came that the city of Amaranthine was under attack, and then there were other pressing matters, so no one from the Keep ever came out and said what had happened with the nobles. The more time passed, the worse it looked. I swear to you, Anora, it was entirely self-defence.”

“Oh, I've no doubt of that. Just as it was self-defence when you killed the previous Arl of Amaranthine,” Anora said pointedly. “But there were those who questioned that. You can see how this might appear, I'm sure. The previous arl's allies and close associates killed in the ancestral home of that very arl who was killed by you?”

Rowan sighed. She was over a barrel, just as she had predicted. “Anora, let us get right to the heart of the matter. What, exactly, do you want, and what will you offer if I do as you ask?”

Anora couldn't hide her smile of satisfaction. “Should Alistair be found and brought back to Ferelden, and should he wish to rejoin the Grey Wardens, I want you to agree to take him back into the order,” Anora said. “If he leaves without permission, I expect you to issue an arrest warrant and notify me immediately. While he is under your command, you may do with him as you wish. You can make him scrub the floors of the Keep or peel potatoes in the kitchen from dawn to dusk. You can use his skills as a warrior or not, you can trust him or not. That is all entirely up to you. What I want is to know that if he is in your care, he will be supervised, so that if there is another uprising in his name, it will be a simple matter to point out that 'Prince Alistair' is, in fact, under the command of the Hero of Ferelden, and the Hero of Ferelden supports the queen.”

Ah! Rowan knew there had to be more to this, and there it was, at last. It was subtle, and Rowan had to acknowledge that Anora was deviously good at this kind of political manoeuvring and manipulation. The queen really had considered everything. It was exhausting to deal with her, and nearly impossible to keep one step ahead of her.

“Having a living potential rival to a throne that one holds only by virtue of marriage and consensus is of no small concern,” Anora confessed, almost tiredly. “It really would be so much easier if I just had him killed, but this is an excellent compromise, I think.”

“And what are you offering for my compliance?” Rowan asked, not even trying to play at diplomacy at this point.

“I can make the complaints about the disappearing nobles fall silent. I can say that the investigation turned up nothing conclusive and that there is no reason to think that the Grey Wardens or you, specifically, did anything improper. That's true enough, although, I must say, telling no one what happened was... questionable judgement on your part.”

Rowan sighed. “I know. Believe me, I know. And I should have investigated the conspiracy more thoroughly before it got out of hand.”

“I trust you've learned from this,” Anora said, not unkindly.

“Of course. One can learn more from their failures and mistakes than from their victories, sometimes.”

“Very true,” Anora agreed amiably. “Then this is settled, You will agree to be one of the acceptable supervisors for Alistair if called upon to do so, and I will make this business with the conspiring nobles go away. I have every confidence in you.”

“Very well,” Rowan agreed. She paused for a moment to allow for a slight change of direction. “Anora, I have another request, but I don't want to ask you this as part of some political bargain. It's personal.”

“Intriguing! What is it?”

“You know that my second-in-command is Nathaniel Howe, Rendon's eldest son.”

“Yes. I was very surprised when I saw that name, let me tell you. I'd forgotten about him. And there was a daughter, too, ah...?”

“Delilah. She's married to a merchant and has recently delivered a son. I suspect she's glad to be rid of the Howe name. There was another son, as well, Thomas. As far as anyone can tell, he died in Denerim during the Blight. And none of Rendon Howe's children had anything to do with his actions during the war,” Rowan stressed. “Just as you were not responsible for your own father's actions. And that brings me to my request. Nathaniel lost everything. His family, his family's honour, his title, his lands, his income. He was ruined by his father's actions, but the thing that bothers him the most is the shame brought on the Howe name. His family is, as I'm sure you must know, an old one, with a long and rich history of honourable and noble service, which made Rendon's actions just that much worse. The man destroyed a legacy. The loss of the respect that the name Howe once commanded is something Nathaniel feels keenly. He very much wishes to restore his family honour.”

“I've heard stories about you and your lieutenant,” Anora said. “I'm well aware that you and he are more than colleagues. Tell me the real story. There are a number of variations, but the ones I've heard all sound very romantic, and I'm curious how much truth there is to them.”

Anora was still bargaining, and this time she was looking for inside information. Rowan knew well that gossip could serve as a kind of currency in courtly and noble circles. This information might be worth a great deal.

“I might be persuaded to share the details, within the bounds of decency,” Rowan conceded, “but first, my request. As I said, Nathaniel wants to restore honour to his family name. You could help considerably with that.”

Anora frowned. “Does he want his title back? His lands?”

“He might have at one time,” Rowan answered, “but he is a Grey Warden now. His loyalty is to the order.”

“And to you?”

“Yes,” Rowan acknowledged, giving the queen a bit of the information she sought. “As queen, you have the power to make it known that Nathaniel Howe is a respectable man, that he serves with honour and courage, and that he is not his father, nor responsible for his father's actions.”

“Oh, you mean in a social context? Only that? Maker's earlobes, I was expecting you to ask for something far more complex! Yes, yes, I can do this easily,” Anora said with a wave of her elegant hand. “You and your lieutenant will come to dinner a few times in my private dining room with a number of different banns and nobles and knights and perhaps a few visiting dignitaries. It doesn't have to be every night, of course. I'll have my secretary send you a proposed schedule. And there are a few more public events scheduled in the next few weeks, so if you and Nathaniel would care to attend one of them before you leave the capital, I can make it crystal clear to one and all that while Rendon Howe was, indeed, a dishonourable scoundrel and a war criminal, Nathaniel Howe is a trusted officer of the esteemed Grey Wardens, and he is welcome at court and in the presence of Ferelden's queen.”

“Neither of us brought appropriate clothes, I'm afraid.”

“We can sort that out, it's not an issue.”

“So long as the stories of your approval and support are carried far and wide, yes, I should think so.”

“Done,” Anora said with a charming grin that seemed both genuine and relieved. “Now, Rowan Cousland, you will tell me everything about this romance with Nathaniel Howe, from the time that you met, to this very moment. Except for the steamy bits, though you can tell me some of that, too, as you like. I'm not easily shocked.”

Rowan couldn't help but laugh. Anora was as eager as a teenage girl, and she seemed almost lonely, desperate to let down her guard in the company of someone she could regard as a peer, or near enough to one.

“I don't recall the first time that Nathaniel and I met,” Rowan admitted, settling in to tell as captivating a story as she could manage. “I would have been just a child, whenever it was. I did have a brief crush on him when I was eleven years old and he came to Highever for a tournament. He was in his late teens then, and friendly with my older brother...”

Anora listened raptly, delighting in the tale Rowan spun. Rowan did include a few hints as to Nathaniel's prowess in intimate matters, but only just enough to get the point across, and without lurid details. She concentrated, instead, on how strong and capable he was, how honest and honourable he was, and how he managed to pull her out of a very dark, very bleak state of mind, simply by paying attention, encouraging her to let go, and watching her back.

It was very much a true story.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always thought Anora's heart is in the right place, but she just cannot help being a politician. ;)


	44. An Intimate Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan and Nathaniel talk about a variety of things, including that thing he does with his tongue. 
> 
> There is no sex in this, though the conversation does deal frankly with mature subject matter and they talk about sex a fair bit, even if they're not doing it.

 

When Rowan returned to the suite, Nathaniel was in bed, reading. He was propped up against the pillows, bare chested, the covers up to this waist. Rowan couldn't help but admire him, and also wonder if he was completely naked.

“How was your meeting?” Nathaniel asked as he put the book aside. Rowan noticed it was the one she'd bought for herself, a publication from Orlais. This particular one featured erotic stories about templars and mages, but Rowan had seen the publication before, and knew that the quarterly issues had different themes, all of them smut.

“It was all right,” Rowan said as she sat on a stool to unlace her boots. “It's always a challenge to keep up with Anora. We went for a ride in an unmarked carriage, so we wouldn't be overheard. She seems lonely, I can tell you that much. By the way, she wants us both to attend dinner in her private dining room in two days. I told her neither of us had brought any appropriate clothing, she said she was aware of that because Bann Teagan mentioned it to her, so she's sending around a seamstress to take measurements or some such. There isn't enough time to make new clothes, but there is to alter existing ones as needed. I hope you don't mind.”

Nathaniel frowned. “She wants _me_ to attend?”

Rowan nodded as she stood up and started to undress.

“Yes. You're the Lieutenant Commander of the Grey, as you have pointed out, and it's no secret you're my companion in more ways than one. Why wouldn't she?”

He snorted. “I'm a Howe, remember?”

“She doesn't mind. In fact, one of the things we agreed on was that she was going to make sure it is understood that you are not considered to be a party to your father's crimes. It helps that she has been accused of being involved in her own father's misdeeds, so if she can emphasise the whole 'not your father' thing, it works for her as well as you. The Howe name will eventually have some respect again. I'm afraid the lands and title are... too complicated to sort out. Delilah wants no part of it from what you've told me, and you're a Grey Warden now, so...”

“Did you ask the queen to do this for me?”

“Of course.” She pulled off the last of her clothes and slipped into the bed and was pleased to find that he was, indeed, entirely unclothed, and wonderfully warm. With a sigh of contentment, she cuddled up to him, her fingers automatically working into the soft, dark hair on his chest, while she rubbed a leg on his hairy ones.

“I... don't know what to say,” Nathaniel told her.

“You don't have to say anything. And it's not just for you. It serves the Grey Wardens to have a respectable Commander and a respectable second-in-command. It gives us legitimacy, at least in Ferelden. We need to build on our current favour and use it while we have it, because Maker knows when the social and political tides will turn. People are fickle.”

He turned so he could embrace her more effectively, and she melted into him gratefully.

“How are you?” he asked.

“I'm just tired. As I suspected she would do, Anora made it clear that I really don't have any choice but to agree to take Alistair back into the Grey Wardens. Assuming he's found, comes back to Ferelden, and wants to rejoin the order, all of that. Given how determined she is, though, I expect they will at least be able to locate him.”

“And is your agreement related to the incident with the banns and their conspiracy?”

“She did use that as a bargaining chip, in fact, but it was fairly weak. I actually think I could get out of that easily enough with a little work and a threat to certain persons to make the truth of the conspiracy public, but that's a lot of time and effort that could be spent doing something productive. The queen is going to settle that matter in exchange for my cooperation. Anora very much wants to see Alistair back with the Wardens.”

Nathaniel frowned. “Why do you think that is?”

“Ah. Yes, it took me a while to work that out. But of all the places he could go, she is best served and looks the best if he is in the service of the Grey Wardens, under the command of the Hero of Ferelden. In the end, having her good will is far better than having her enmity, so I agreed, but I had to play at politics and I really do not enjoy that. Have to watch every word you say, every step you take, evaluate everything the other person says and does, ugh. Court intrigues leave me cold. Give me an angry ogre any day. They don't pussyfoot around, playing coy and making you guess what they want and how to respond to them.”

Nathaniel chuckled. “Yes, that's certainly true,” he agreed.

“She also wanted to know about you and me. Gossip and interesting information about well-known figures can be currency at the court, you know.”

“I do know. What did you tell her?”

“I told her that you have a lot of hair all over your beautiful body and a nice, thick cock and that you have this amazing thing that you do with your tongue, among many other impressive talents and skills.”

“I see,” he said dryly as a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “And did her majesty appreciate your tales of my sexual attractiveness and erotic prowess?”

“I think she would have if I'd actually told them,” Rowan admitted with a smirk. “Actually, I told her what she wanted to know, and that was the love story. She asked about when we met, so I told her how I'd had a brief crush on you when I was a child, and then I told her about our meeting in the dungeon. I told her how we were angry with each other for weeks before that got sorted out, but mostly I told her about how you care for me, look after me. And how you always watch my back.”

“I do,” he said sensually, nuzzling her ear while he slipped a hand down her back and caressed one of her arse cheeks. “And your backside. Tell me, what thing do I do with my tongue that you like so much, then?”

“When you... Oh, wait, weren't you going to tie me to the bedposts and tease me?”

“Not tonight. And not here. That's something best left for when we have plenty of time and a very secure and familiar location. I'd prefer to wait until we're home. Something to look forward to, hmm?”

“Home...” she echoed. “Yes, I suppose it is. How curious. I never thought I'd have one of those again.”

“I felt the same,” he admitted, rubbing his hand up and down her back. “I certainly didn't think I'd ever be able to call Vigil's Keep my home again. I'm glad it's with you.”

She smiled and leaned closer so she could kiss him, sucking at his lips and tasting the inside of his mouth, savouring the sensation and the closeness.

“Tell me about this crush you had on me,” he said when he pulled his mouth away from hers. “Fergus mentioned it, too.”

“You want to hear about that now?”

“Well, you brought it up. Yes, I want to hear it.”

“There's really not much to say. You came for a tournament in Highever. I was almost twelve, just on the cusp of womanhood. We'd met a few times before, but until that visit, I didn't really, uh, notice you. I mean, not like that. Anyway, you paid no attention to me at all, barely managed to grunt a greeting. I followed you and Fergus around all day at the festival, though you weren't my sole reason for tricking my nanny into letting me go off without her. I wanted to see the fair for myself, so I convinced her I'd be with Fergus, and to keep that from being a lie, I kept my eye on him. I was somewhat surprised to see exactly how you and my brother were carrying on. Competing with each other for sexual favours from women?”

“Ah, you know about that, then?”

“I worked it out on my own, and Fergus confirmed it recently when I asked him about it. I'd love to hear the rules, though. My brother was was quite clearly embarrassed and wouldn't elaborate much. You, on the other hand, never get embarrassed by anything, and you promised me that you'd always answer my questions truthfully. So... What were the rules of your competition with Fergus?”

“Maker's breath,” Nathaniel sighed. “You're really going to make me tell you? All right. We had an agreement not to lie and say we'd scored when we didn't, and not to claim more points than we'd really managed to get. There was no way to prove or disprove it, of course, but sometimes we would rather crudely wave our fingers under the others' nose to demonstrate where those fingers had been, if you catch my meaning.”

Rowan snickered in a most unladylike way. “I think I get the idea, yes.”

“Most important was the rule that any partner had to be completely willing. The point of the competition was our skill at seduction, at persuasion. There's no skill in backing some unsuspecting woman into a corner and groping her or grabbing her by the cunt, and there's certainly no honour in that kind of... assault.”

“Agreed,” Rowan said. She briefly recalled his brother, Thomas, who once tried that kind of dishonourable, repugnant stunt with her. “It can also get you a broken nose if you grab the wrong woman.”

“So I hear. Yet another good reason not to act like that.”

“Go on.”

“I think you're enjoying this.”

“Hearing about the debauchery you and my brother got up to? I am, actually.”

He kissed her on the mouth, not a deep kiss, but a sweet one.

“There was a point for kissing, but it had to involve tongues and all that. Lots of women will give you a kiss on the cheek or even on the lips, especially if you've just won something in a tournament, but getting someone to kiss you more intimately takes a bit of persuasion. Points increased the more things you persuaded her to participate in, so there were points for getting your hands on her tits or her arse through her clothes, but more points if there was nudity involved. If you could get your mouth on her bare tits, even more points. Next stage for scoring was getting your hand in her knickers, more yet for getting your mouth between her legs. Similar scoring of points for her putting her hand in your pants or putting her mouth on your cock and so forth. It progressed to getting her consent to have sex, but bonus points if she took the initiative there and suggested it or invited you before you asked. Then additional points on a case by case basis for... more unusual sexual acts.”

“Like what?”

“Well... as I said... case by case basis. We generally discussed it and decided what it was worth in terms of the scoring.”

“It sounds to me like this was all just an excuse for you two to brag to each other about your sexual conquests,” Rowan said.

“And I would have to agree with that,” he said. “It was all fairly crass behaviour, I will admit, but we were young and arrogant, what can I say? I would like to point out that the word _seduction_ is used fairly loosely. The women I was with were just as eager for a bit of dalliance as I was, and some were downright aggressive about it. It wasn't like I singled out some innocent maiden and then charmed her into doing things she didn't want to do, and I never made promises or implied that what we were doing was anything more than it was. The way Fergus and I made a game of it was not the most gentlemanly thing, certainly. But I was no despoiler of virtue. I can tell when a woman wants me. I never approached those who were clearly uninterested, and I have always taken no for an answer, even if it's unspoken. If a kiss was all she was willing to give, I was content with that. And, truth be told, most encounters never went much beyond kissing and fondling, though some did.”

“Nathaniel, I never thought you and my brother were despoiling innocent virgins for a game,” she said. “Even when he was young and arrogant, Fergus was not like that, is not like that. And you've always been very considerate of me, never push me or press your advantage when I know you could.”

“I have never liked the idea of taking advantage or coercing or forcing someone to be with me.”

“I know. I can't imagine you doing that.”

“Thank you. I can't say I'm proud of everything I did, I mean, the scoring and bragging was not really something I can defend now, but I never wanted to be with a woman solely for the purpose of bragging about it. Bragging about it was just an additional bit of satisfaction after the fact. I can't really be ashamed, either, though. It was what it was. And I would like to point out that you directly benefit from the experiences of my morally questionable, youthful indiscretions. I learned a great deal about how to please a woman.”

“So... I take it I'm worth a lot of points to you, then?”

He grinned. “The first time we were together, Maker, yes. But after that, no. It was all about the thrill of the hunt. Once you've been caught, well...”

“No more thrill?”

“I used to think that,” he admitted, almost sadly. “But then I met you, and you still thrill me every time I touch you, every time I kiss you. Sometimes, I only have to think about you and I get an erection, and at the most inopportune times. Wandering around the cellars with a mapping and inspection crew and my mind wanders and I start thinking about you and how beautiful you are and how glorious it is to have my hands and my mouth on you... Thankfully, I generally wear armour or a long tunic that hides it, or I can turn aside long enough for it to recede.”

“That happens to me, too, you know,” Rowan admitted. “I think about you and some of the things you do... and say... Thankfully, a woman can hide her arousal a lot more easily than a man can.”

“You may be able to hide it from other people, but I can always tell. And I've never told you this, but long before we were lovers, I knew that you wanted me. All the signs were there, even though you tried to hide it. But at the same time, it was also quite obvious to me that you weren't inclined to give in to that desire, and you were my commander, so I didn't even consider actively pursuing you. Maker, I wanted you, though. Sometimes it was agony to watch you and not be able to have you.”

Rowan nodded. “I did want you, but I was concerned that if I acted on it, it could have ended badly, and I couldn't risk losing you. I needed all the Wardens I could get.”

Nathaniel grinned. “That's my Rowan,” he said affectionately. “Always the pragmatist, and almost always putting duty above personal desire. Ah, love of my life, what would I have done without you?”

“I could say the same,” she admitted. “In fact, I think I need you more than you need me.”

“That can't possibly be true,” he argued, fixing her with an intense gaze. “Neither side of the coin needs the other more.”

Rowan raised her hand to stroke his cheek. “I can see why you frequently won.”

“Won?”

“The competitions you used to have with Fergus. He thought it was because you were dark, quiet, and brooding. That may have attracted a fair bit of attention, but that's not what got you in with them. Fergus has no idea what a silver tongue you have.”

“Speaking of my tongue, why don't you detail for me exactly what I do with mine that you like so much, hmm?”

“Ohhh, there's an offer I can't refuse. Start with a kiss and keep going. I'll let you know when you're doing the thing I like.”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“I suppose it is.”

“Challenge accepted.”

 


	45. Meetings and Fittings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel meets his nephew, Delilah has some words with Rowan, and there are silk gowns and doublets.
> 
> There's some nice, intense, SFW emotional stuff at the end. ;)

The meeting with Albert Dryden and several of his relatives went well enough. He was a friendly, outgoing man with soft, blonde hair and a ruddy complexion. His and Delilah's son, Dane, had dark hair like Delilah, and chubby little cheeks, with no sign at all of the prominent Howe nose.

Delilah carried her tiny son around in a sling across her chest. Nathaniel made appropriately avuncular motions toward the baby, smiling and making a few cooing noises, which Rowan thought were probably more for Delilah's sake than the baby's.

Watching him with his new nephew was the first time Rowan had really thought about children and the fact that she couldn't have them, that they, as a couple, would never have them. The topic had come up in conversation a few times, sure, but seeing him with Delilah's baby really drove it home. He would make an excellent father, firm but not strict, patient, nurturing. It really was a pity that was not something he would ever experience.

Thankfully, Rowan didn't get the opportunity to spend much thought or emotion on that, because the negotiations for bolts of cloth, tapestries, carpets, and other items they needed or wanted for the restoration of the Keep took precedence. Sigrun was very thorough with her measurements and notes, and had some very strong ideas about what needed to be done, and Rowan just left her to it, pleased to see that the dwarf negotiated some very good deals.

The Wardens were invited to a home-cooked lunch at the home of one of the Drydens, and Rowan was persuaded to tell the assembled company the story of how she met Levi Dryden and the family ended up using the old Grey Warden fortress, Soldier's Peak, as a supply and storage base for their goods.

They made arrangements for returning to Vigil's Keep with a couple of ox-drawn wagons, partly to transport goods, though there was more that would be delivered, and partly so that Delilah didn't have to go on foot. Rowan thought, not for the first time, that they really needed to fix up the stables at Vigil's Keep at get some horses. Going everywhere on foot was a necessity during the Blight, and horses were generally useless if you were going into the Deep Roads, because the horses had to remain behind and on some missions, you could be underground for weeks at a time, but there was plenty of business for which having a horse would be entirely appropriate. Rowan mentally added horses to the list of things that needed her direct attention and got back to her cup of tea.

“More tea?” Delilah asked. A few people agreed that they wouldn't mind more. Dane was sleeping rather adorably in his father's arms, leaving Delilah free to stand up and grab the pot from the middle of the table. “Rowan, come and help me?”

Rowan's eyebrows shot up. Not only was Delilah calling her by her name, she was asking for help in the kitchen from the Commander of the Grey? Well, that was intriguing.

“As you like,” Rowan answered, and got to her feet, shooting Nathaniel a curious glance as she did so.

Delilah busied her hands and eyes with cleaning out the tea pot.

“You and my brother,” she said. “What's going on there?”

“Are you always this direct?” Rowan asked with a small laugh. They had met on a few occasions growing up, but they weren't well acquainted. Rowan definitely appreciated Delilah's straightforward approach.

“Not always,” Delilah shrugged, rinsing the pot one more time in at the corner water pump before turning around to look Rowan in the eye. “But he's the only family I have left, other than my husband and son. I think I have a right to ask.”

Rowan smiled. “My brother, Fergus, paid a visit to Vigil's Keep to ask the same thing, and he had the same reasoning. Of course, I really am his only remaining family.”

A look of sorrow washed over Delilah's face and she looked away. “I'm so sorry for your loss. I truly am. When I heard you were the one to kill my father, I was... happy isn't the right word, but I thought it was perfectly fitting. I told Nathaniel as much.”

“Thank you for that, and for whatever you told him. We were very much at odds with each other before he talked to you. I don't think he believed me when I tried to tell him what had really happened, but he believed you. It turned the tide on our relationship so we could become friends.”

“Friends, is it?” Delilah asked with a smirk very like Nathaniel's as she put the kettle on the hot wood stove. “Yes, he told me you were friends. But it seems like more than that. I hadn't put too much stock in the the rumours and tavern songs, but now I've seen you together, and you certainly look... together.”

“Yes,” Rowan admitted. “We are.”

“Do you love him?”

“I do. More than is really prudent or sensible, to be perfectly honest.”

“Interesting,” Delilah said, sounding very like her brother in that moment. “You do know, I hope, that he was quite a rake when he was younger.”

“Yes, I am aware. He assures me that those days are long behind him.”

“That's good to know. If he says that's done, you can believe him,” Delilah said firmly.

“I know,” Rowan answered with a smile.

Delilah chuckled and reached up to grab a tin of tea from the shelf and toss some into the teapot. “I think you and I could be friends,” she said decisively as she got a cloth and lifted the kettle from the stove.

“Yes, I think so, too,” Rowan answered. “I hope so, anyway. And before you start calling me anything else, I'm going to ask you to call me by my first name.”

“What, don't you like being called Hero of Ferelden?”

Rowan made a face and Delilah chuckled.

“Rowan is a nice name. You were named after King Cailan's mother, Queen Rowan?”

“Yes. And if I'd been a boy my parents were going to call me Maric,” she answered automatically, as she had done for years whenever anyone asked if she was named after Maric's wife. “We can talk more later, maybe on the trip back to Vigil's Keep. Get to know each other. And you can always come and talk to me at the Keep, assuming I'm not away on some mission. Things have been mercifully quiet lately, though, with regard to the darkspawn and other such matters. It's fairly routine these days.”

“Do you still go out on patrols?” Delilah asked, setting the hot tea pot on a tray.

“Regularly, but not frequently. So does Nathaniel.”

“I'm glad to hear it. He always did like sleeping outdoors. I'll bet he likes it even better when he's sleeping with you.”

Before Rowan could respond to that, Delilah picked up the tray and carried it back into the other room.

“Nathaniel,” Delilah said as she set the tray in the middle of the table. “May I have a word with you in the kitchen?”

Nathaniel frowned but nodded, and Rowan hid a smile, guessing that his sister was going to put him through the same interrogation.

 

~*~

 

After dinner, Nathaniel and Rowan met in their suite with the seamstress the queen had given the task of arranging for the Hero of Ferelden and the Lieutenant Commander of the Grey with appropriate court clothing.

She was called Trilla, and she was an elf, middle aged, with graceful hands and red hair that was going silver at the temples. She and her apprentice and several assistants had brought a number of garments for Nathaniel and Rowan to try on. Despite the fact that they were clearly a couple, Trilla insisted that Rowan disrobe and dress in the bedroom while Nathaniel remained in the front room. He was to look through the selection of clothes he'd been offered and choose the ones he liked best.

Meanwhile in the bedroom, after some fussing and discussion, Rowan was persuaded to accept a dress of deep wine red and trimmed with gold brocade, with a scooped neckline and full sleeves, puffed at the shoulders and tapering to fitted wrists, and which only needed to be taken in slightly. Trilla enthused about how flattering the colour was, and when Rowan emerged from the bedroom, the look that lit up Nathaniel's face told her he thought so, too, so off Rowan went to remove the gown, which had been pinned and chalk marked in a few places.

Of course, she needed proper undergarments, and for this dress, that meant an Orlesian style corset. The seamstress had brought one to wear for the purpose of fitting, but the corset she brought was not well-suited to Rowan's body shape. Trilla offered to find another one to lend, but Rowan thought she might just go into the city and find a corset maker and see what they had in stock. There was no time for a custom piece before the appointed dinner, but perhaps she might be fortunate to find something that fit well or could be easily altered to do so. Trilla recommended a corsetiere who would probably have something appropriate available.

By the time she came out of the bedroom in her dressing gown, Nathaniel was being fitted in a deep olive green sleeveless doublet that fit snugly over a long-sleeved white shirt and olive and black striped breeches. The lines of the clothes accentuated both his broad shoulders and his beautiful legs, and, Maker, the colours certainly did him justice. Rowan had to bite her tongue to keep from saying something entirely inappropriate.

Nathaniel's outfit was meant to be worn with black boots, of which Nathaniel had none, at least with him. Trilla offered to find some that would fit him, but Rowan pointed out that she was going to go shopping for underclothes, and he might be able to find a well-stocked cobbler. Some cobblers had pre-cut boots and shoes that only needed to be fitted and sewn and could be done in a day or even hours, and, as luck would have it, Trilla had some recommendations.

After ushering Nathaniel into the bedroom to change, Trilla and her assistants carried away the pinned clothes along with the outfits that weren't chosen. Rowan escorted the flock of seamstresses out and then went into the bedroom and flopped down on the bed. Nathaniel, wearing just a pair of breeches he had pulled on, lay on the bed beside her on his back, one arm under his head.

“What's on the agenda for tonight, then?” she asked, turning onto her side to look at him, and to better get to where she could caress his chest and run her fingers through his chest hair.

“Are you sure you don't want to go to that brothel? We can just hire a room...”

“What, tonight?”

“It's a brothel,” he answered with a smirk. “They're open all hours.”

She giggled. “I'm sure they are. But I'd have to get dressed and it would take a fair bit of time to get there and... no. I might consider it before we leave Denerim, though, if it makes you happy.”

“Oh, it's not about making me happy, my love. It's about making you happy.”

“Oh, is it now?”

“Absolutely,” he said right before he kissed her on the mouth. “Part of my job, my duty, even, is trying to make you happy, if it's at all within my power. Speaking of happiness... how are you feeling about Alistair?”

“I don't feel anything about Alistair.”

“Well, that isn't true and we both know it, but let's not go into that. I'm asking if you'd be all right having him at Vigil's Keep.”

She grunted. “Perhaps we should set up some other bases. I'm sure the dwarves would welcome the help, and Grey Wardens are well-regarded in Orzammar, plus the king owes me. Alistair never liked Orzammar much. We could station him there.”

Nathaniel chuckled. “That is both practical and spiteful. Very Rowan.”

“You think I'm spiteful?”

“You think you're not?”

“I... maybe I am,” she conceded. “Honestly, though, I think... I'm fairly certain that the taint affects Grey Wardens in a lot of ways, and not just physically. It brings out our darker side, feeds it. I was different, before. I was not so... intense. It was so much easier to throw off emotional and mental pain and stress. Now, I sometimes think it will crush me. I sometimes wonder if this is the blight madness, starting, in subtle ways, to take over. Blight corruption is one of the spirit as well as the body, or so I've read.”

“Maker, you're in a dark mood.”

“Alistair brings out the best in me, what can I say? And he reminds me of things I'd rather not be reminded of.”

“Then perhaps we really should find somewhere else to send him, if we're required to take him back into the order.”

“Perhaps. But perhaps Teagan won't be able to find him, though I expect Anora's got agents looking for him, as well. And perhaps if he is found, Alistair will be unwilling to return to Ferelden under the restrictions Anora has set. And even if he does, I've made it clear to Teagan that Alistair will not be welcomed amongst the Grey Wardens, because they will know that he deserted during a Blight, and they will resent him.”

“That's probably true,” Nathaniel said. “I hadn't considered it before, but you're quite right. He would have to work very hard to overcome that, and they might never accept him. It would be a miserable life, given how much Grey Wardens rely on each other for companionship. I can't say that it wouldn't be without dramatic irony, though.”

“True, but as far as I'm concerned, he can rot in the Free Marches.”

“I don't think you really mean that,” Nathaniel said seriously. “I think you've never fully let him go.”

“What are you implying?”

Nathaniel reached up to cup her face with his hand and looked at her with an expression so full of smouldering intensity she felt scorched by it.

“Why won't you marry me?”

“You know why.”

“I do know why. I'm not sure you do.”

Rowan opened her mouth to answer him but he swooped in for a kiss, silencing her. He pressed his weight against her and pushed her into the mattress, his mouth possessive, hungry. Rowan groaned and returned the kiss, wrapping her arms around him.

Eventually, he pulled back from her. “Until you, I never gave my heart to anyone. There were women I cared for, maybe even loved in my casual way, but I always held back part of myself. I see you doing that now, holding back from me. What that fool did... I will guard your heart, if you will only give it to me.”

“Nathaniel,” she said, her voice trembling, “I do love you. Truly.”

“I know that you do. I love you, too,” he answered with tender smile. He shifted his body slightly so he could stroke her face. “Rowan Cousland, you are my heart, my breath... And you are _mine_. One day, you will understand that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been horrifically hot lately where I live, and I haven't been able to think very much, let alone remember to post updates. I am still writing, though, and have several more chapters ready to go. ;)


	46. Dinner with Her Majesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan and Nathaniel dine with the queen.

The palace had a bath house where one could get a hot bath with minimal effort. Many of the bedrooms had bath tubs, as well, but to have a hot bath required hot water, and so someone had to bring it, which could be a difficult and trouble-filled process. The bath house, however, had stoves and pots and water from a cistern on the roof, plus screened areas with copper tubs. They also provided a choice of aromatic, dried flowers with which to scent the bath, and Antivan soap. Nathaniel and Rowan were happy to make use of these facilities.

The two Grey Wardens were the only ones using the bath house in the mid-afternoon, so after slightly scandalising the servants by insisting they could bathe at the same time, albeit in separate tubs, the pair bantered playfully and somewhat suggestively. They were both entirely aware that their relationship had be noted and the gossip would be spread throughout the palace staff. Now there would be a few eyewitnesses. Rowan considered this a good thing. The more people who knew they were together, the better. Such a thing could only serve to assist Nathaniel in his efforts to redeem his name. After all, if the Hero of Ferelden was his lover, he had to be decent and honourable, especially considering the bad blood that should be between them.

They both soaked in their respective tubs until the water grew tepid, and then Rowan was the first to emerge from the bath, wrapping herself in one of the large, soft towels, with another towel wrapped around her head and wet hair. She could hear that Nathaniel was doing the same in his own screened area. When she felt dry enough to get dressed, she put on the simple gown she'd brought and stepped into her slippers, emerging from the bath area pressing the towel to her hair only moments before Nathaniel appeared, dressed in breeches and a simple tunic. Before they left, he pulled on the short, casual sheepskin boots he had bought at the cobbler who had made the elegant, cuffed, black leather boots he would be wearing to dinner with Anora that evening.

“Am I acceptable?” he asked.

“Not sure,” Rowan answered, stepping up to him. She leaned forward and gave his freshly-shaved neck a sniff. “Lavender suits you, my lord. You should bathe in it more often.”

He gave her a smirk and then a kiss on the cheek before asking, “Shall we return to our quarters, my lady?”

Rowan's heart fluttered even as desire blossomed in her belly. When he called her _my lady_ , he said it in a way that was both respectful and unreservedly intimate, and the way he looked at her made her insides flip over and around. This kind of smouldering, dark charm was undoubtedly how he had managed to seduce so many women.

Suddenly, she wanted to know what it was like to have this man pursue her, seduce her. He never had done, had always waited for her to make the first move. Then she suddenly remembered the angry man he'd once been, and, Maker help her, wondered what it would have been like if they'd come together then...

“I.. I'm sorry,” she said suddenly, heat rushing to her face. “I was... distracted.”

He smiled at her knowingly and offered her his arm. “Let's go.”

“As you say, my lord.”

They couldn't help but hear the murmurs of the servants behind them as they left.

 

~*~

 

She pulled up the beautiful, black, silk stockings with a smile. It had been a long time since she'd had something so fine against her skin. These were Orlesian, and had come in a set with a red-trimmed, black silk corset and matching knickers, though, being Orlesian, that last item probably had a much more delicate name than that, even if they served the same purpose as plain old Ferelden underpants. There were red ribbon garters at the top of the stockings to keep them up, and she tied them snugly enough to do their job.

“Nate, would you come and lace me up?” she called. He was in the other room, where he'd left his new black boots, and he stepped into the bedroom wearing them, along with the black and olive striped breeches which, Rowan noted, fit him with snug perfection. He had the white shirt on, but it was unbuttoned and hanging open. The boots came up to just below the knee, and had a cuff that could be turned up or down, as the wearer desired. Nathaniel had the cuffs up, and it looked marvellous.

“Maker, Nate, if you aren't just tasty hot sex on a platter, I don't know what is. I'll never be able to keep my eyes off you.”

He grinned. “Good,” he answered saucily, walking over behind her to pull the laces of the corset for her as she'd asked. Orlesian-style corsets like this one just covered the breasts and forced them up and forward, while narrowing the waist at the same time.

“Not too tight,” she said. “I want to be able to eat. And breathe.”

“Don't worry, love of my life. I won't let your undergarments strangle you.”

True to his word, the corset was snug but not overly restrictive. It was a good fit. And he was right, it definitely did improve her posture, but she felt that if she turned the wrong way, her breasts would pop right out, which was how she always felt wearing an Orlesian-style corset. A Ferelden corset didn't cover the breasts at all, though some designs provided some support in that department.

“Turn around,” Nathaniel said. “Let me see. Maker's breath. Those tits...” He reached out with both hands and caressed the tops of her breasts where they were pushed up by the corset. “Talk about not being able to keep your eyes off someone. I don't know how I'll keep from staring at these.” He leaned over and kissed each breast and then winked at her and started to button his shirt while she went to get her dress from where it was spread out on the bed.

The deep red gown was a bit of a trick to put on with it's voluminous skirt, and Rowan once again required Nathaniel's assistance. Once it was in place, Rowan buttoned the cuffs of the sleeves while Nathaniel nimbly did up the laces at the back of the bodice.

“Sit down, I'll do your hair,” he said when he'd finished. “I don't suppose you have any hair pins? No, I thought not. I can make do with ties, then.”

“Oh, just put it into a plait,” Rowan said. “It's only dinner.” But he wasn't listening. Instead, he'd gotten his shaving kit, where he also kept hair ties and a comb. He came back and combed her hair and then fooled with it for a bit. It felt like he was plaiting it, but then he did something else, some kind of twist, perhaps. When he was done, he told her not to go anywhere and stepped away while Rowan gently touched her hair and found he'd plaited it down the back of her head and then tucked the braid up under and cleverly tied it so that it was up off of her neck in a kind of looping twist. Simple, but elegant.

“I have a gift for you,” he said. “I got this while you were in the book store, that first day we went shopping.” She felt him put a necklace around her throat and she automatically reached up to touch the pendant, then glanced down to look at it, but could only get a sense of it. “Here,” he said, handing her the polished metal mirror from his shaving kit.

It was a gold arrow, designed to hang at a jaunty angle, arrowhead down. From the tip of the arrow dangled a pendant made of deep red, translucent stone she thought was probably a ruby. The stone was heart shaped, and it looked like it was being pierced by the arrow, or perhaps the heart was dripping from the tip like blood. Hearts, arrows, blood, it was a strangely appropriate piece and very pretty, the light catching the ruby as she moved. The asymmetrical design was intriguing, and unusual.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile, touching the pendant with a fingertip. “This is a lovely gift.”

“Let me see,” he said, and she stood up and turned around, the gown rustling as she did. “Beautiful. It looks like it was made for you. And, Maker's breath, it calls even more attention to your tits. And, happy coincidence, it works perfectly with that dress. I won't be the only one having trouble keeping my eyes off of you.”

“Come on,” she said, smiling and blushing slightly. “Get dressed.”

“I only need to put on the doublet and pull back my hair,” he said with a smile as he started to tuck in the shirt.

“Oh, can't you leave your hair down? It's very dashing.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, and it's gotten quite long. I like it.”

“As you like,” he said with a shrug as he adjusted the doublet. He offered her his arm. “My lady?”

“Indeed, I am,” she answered with a smile as she took his arm. The smile he gave back made her feel warm all over.

The fabric of her skirt swished as they walked, and the heels of Nathaniel's new boots tapped on the stone floors. Rowan hugged his arm to her side, and he smiled at her as she guided them to the Queen's dining room on the second floor. When they arrived, there were about two dozen people milling around in formal clothes with drinks in their hands. Other than Teagan, who smiled broadly and immediately walked over to greet them, Rowan only knew one of the others present, and then only in passing.

“Ah, my dear Warden-Commander Cousland,” Teagan said in a clear voice meant to be overheard, “how good to see you, my lady.” His gaze swept over her and he said warmly, “Allow me to say that you look absolutely lovely.” He took her free hand and raised it to his lips to kiss her on the knuckles. “Not that you aren't always lovely.”

Rowan smiled warmly and fondly at Teagan and Nathaniel cleared his throat. It was subtle, but Teagan chuckled. “Forgive me, Lieutenant Commander Howe,” he said, and Rowan heard a few of the others gasp or murmur at the mention of the name. Teagan dropped Rowan's hand and turned to Nathaniel and offered his own hand, which Nathaniel clasped. “I must admit I was momentarily distracted by the very beautiful lady on your arm. And might I say what a very fetching couple you make?”

Nathaniel smiled, just a bit, at one corner of his mouth as he glanced at Rowan. “We do, don't we?”

Teagan grinned and winked discreetly. He had been around the previous day to let them know that he would be assisting with the plan to make it known that Nathaniel Howe as both honourable and trustworthy, despite his father's dealings. Teagan was under no illusions that Anora was doing this, at least in part, because it served her to make a statement. Nathaniel was not responsible for his father's terrible actions during the war, and neither was Anora a party to her own father's misdeeds. Two birds, one stone, everyone wins.

Teagan turned and signalled to a servant, who appeared with goblets of wine for them. Rowan dropped her hand from Nathaniel's arm and took a drink, and they walked with Bann Teagan to mingle. The guests, Teagan had informed them, had been chosen for their social influence in certain circles, and their tendency to gossip.

Rowan nodded and smiled and spoke politely to the various other guests. Nathaniel was mostly quiet, though polite. Most of the guests were Ferelden, and a number of them commented on having known Rowan's father. One of them, a woman called Ser Amberley, asked Rowan if Fergus was yet unmarried and whether he was looking for a wife, which Rowan found crass. Instead of making a sharp retort, she smiled and jokingly said she wasn't sure.

Two of the guests were visiting dignitaries. One was an Orlesian nobleman, and as slick as greased silk. Rowan didn't trust him as far as she could throw a mabari. The other was an Antivan noblewoman who, while making boringly polite conversation, was eyeing Nathaniel as if she might try to take a bite out of him.

As they mingled, one of the Ferelden lords, Bann... Haskon? Something like that, anyway, approached them again. He was one of the lords who had told Rowan he knew her father, and he had ignored Nathaniel almost completely when they were introduced. The man had been minimally cordial to Rowan before excusing himself to get more wine.

“I knew _your_ father, too,” the middle-aged bann said accusingly to Nathaniel.

“I didn't,” Nathaniel answered evenly, surprising even Rowan. “I didn't know who he really was until he showed his true colours during the war. Not that I got much news of the Ferelden war in the Free Marches, where I was in service to a chevalier, but since my return to Ferelden, I have learned a great deal about what happened and have been deeply shocked. Did you know my father well, my lord? Better than I did, perhaps?”

The room fell silent, waiting for the bann's response. Rowan touched Nathaniel's arm and he automatically raised it at the elbow so she could tuck her hand in. He reached up and put his other hand onto hers. Nathaniel was wearing his impassive expression, and he looked every inch the nobleman, title or no.

“I... didn't... no,” the bann stammered in response, his face going red. “His... No, not well at all.”

“It seems that few really knew my father,” Nathaniel answered with a measured tone. “Perhaps if someone had known him better or guessed what he was planning and tried to stop him, a great many lives would have been saved and a great deal of strife would have been prevented.”

“Very well said,” came a clear, feminine voice that could only be Anora's.

Rowan pulled her hand from Nathaniel's arm and turned to the queen as he did the same, as everyone in the room did. Rowan curtseyed. Nathaniel gave an elegant and graceful bow from the waist. They were in almost perfect unison, as if they'd practised it.

“Nathaniel Howe, Lieutenant Commander of the Grey,” Anora said as she approached him. Her shrewd, deep blue eyes swept over him and she smiled. “How nice to meet you at last. I've heard good things from the Warden-Commander and from Bann Teagan.”

Nathaniel smiled rather charmingly at her. “That's good to hear.”

“I am certain that our Hero of Ferelden, the Warden-Commander, would not have made you her second-in-command if you hadn't shown excellent leadership skills and exemplary character. I certainly trust her judgement, especially in matters concerning the Grey Wardens and their ongoing efforts to protect the people of Ferelden and even the world. You are always welcome at court, Nathaniel Howe.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he answered, tipping his head respectfully.

A small bell rang out through the room, rung by the steward who had stepped into the room to announce that dinner was about to be served. Rowan thought it was most excellent timing.

She was surprised to find that she was seated immediately to the right of the queen. Teagan courteously held Rowan's chair so that she could adjust the skirt as she sat down, and took his place to her right. Anora looked at Nathaniel and indicated her own chair, and he dutifully seated her, taking appropriate care with her gown. Nathaniel was seated to the queen's left, directly across from Rowan. Clearly, they were the guests of honour, which Rowan had not expected.

Maker, when Anora wanted to send a message, she did it in a big way. Rowan wondered what else the queen had planned.

 

 


	47. Take Me (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan discovers something interesting about corsets and Nathaniel proves he is a man of his word. 
> 
> Pretty much entirely NSFW, with some dom/sub themes.

“Well,” Nathaniel said as they stepped into the suite, “that was tedious.”

Ser Barkley bounded over and whined to be let outside, so Nathaniel held the door open and the dog trotted out to the grassy courtyard to relieve himself and then returned with a big, doggy grin and retrieved the druffalo bone sent from the kitchens early in the day. The dog always ate well at the palace on off-cuts of meat and fresh bones sent from the kennel master.

“It always is,” Rowan agreed. “At least I had a pleasant diversion. You look devilishly handsome in that outfit. That Antivan noblewoman thought so, too.”

He snorted, and wrapped his arms around her loosely. “I know her type. Hungry, licentious, probably likes it rough and dirty. She's probably married to some boring old man she can hardly stand, and she takes any opportunity she can get to cuckold him. There was a time when I might have taken her up on her very clear but unspoken offer, and believe me, she was offering. That she did it in front of you just shows how shameless the woman is, although I wouldn't be surprised if she would be open to having us both.”

“You got all that from her staring at you?”

“As I said, I know the type,” he shrugged. “I've seen it before. If you don't believe me, ask Teagan. I'd be willing to bet you he knows.”

“Knows, as in, you think he's had her?”

“Well, I don't know about that. I suspect he has more self respect and better taste. After all, he's clearly very fond of you. And of your tits, to judge by the way he was staring.”

Rowan laughed. “They are on display. You can hardly blame the man for looking. He wasn't leering, just... admiring my necklace, I'm sure. He complimented me on it, by the way. You're not being jealous again, are you?”

“No,” he said, with a half smile, reaching up to caress the top of one of her breasts. “I'm not jealous of your friendship with Teagan, though, as I already admitted, it bothered me a little to see you together. I'm over it now. That doesn't mean I intend to give up on my pledge to fuck you senseless the whole time we're here, mind you, and supplant all your memories of him with ones of me. I am a man of my word. Let's go in the bedroom so we can get out of these fine clothes.”

Rowan nodded and followed him in and then turned so he could unlace her bodice, a slow and painstaking process to keep from damaging the fabric.

“Teagan has done exactly what I'm doing right now, hasn't he?” he asked, though he knew the answer.

She just nodded once. Nathaniel finished the lacing and gently pulled the sleeves off of her shoulders, bending to kiss each shoulder as he bared them. “Then I'll have to make this evening memorable.” He kissed up her neck, inhaling the unique fragrance of her skin and the faint scent of the rose petal bath.

He moved so he could kiss the other side of her neck, working his way up to her earlobe, which he nibbled with his teeth before whispering in her ear, “I don't deserve you, but I'm grateful to have you. You make me feel proud and humble at the same time. Tell me, my beautiful lady, what would you have of me?”

“Take me, my lord,” she whispered. “Take charge and really _take_ me.”

He chuckled. “Oh, I can certainly do that, my love. You remember what to say if you want me to stop?” he asked softly.

She nodded. He kissed her on the neck a few times.

“Good. Because as it happens, you've been driving me mad all evening, and all the other men looking at you and wanting you, plus the one who had actually had you, made it all the more acute. I'm used to your admirers, but it just makes me want to take you all the more. You are _mine_ , and tonight, I intend to have you, and very thoroughly. Do you understand?”

She nodded, and he kissed her on the neck once more before he stepped back to pull the gown down her body until it lay in a heap of rich wine red fabric all around her feet. “Step out of your shoes, leave them there, then step out of the gown, carefully,” he said, and as she did, he scooped up the gown in his arms and lay it carefully across the low, wide chest at the foot of the bed.

“I love those knickers on you,” he said, "but right now, I want them on the floor. But let's leave the rest, the corset, the stockings.”

He tugged at her underpants and she wriggled her hips, making the silk garment slide to the floor, already visibly wet from her growing arousal. Maker, how he loved that about her, really loved it. She could be ready for him almost at a moment's notice. He ran his hands up the smooth fabric of the corset and up to her mounded tits, and gently pulled the soft flesh at least partly free. Hands on her chest, he rubbed his thumbs over both of her now-exposed nipples. She took a step backward, then another, pressing up against him, panting. The more he rubbed with his thumbs, the more she squirmed against him, moaning, making his cock spring to attention almost painfully. He lowered one arm to hold her up against his body while he pressed his other hand between her thighs.

“What do you want, minx?” he said in her ear. “Tell me.”

“Make me come,” she whimpered. “Make me come for you.”

He pressed his fingers up between her folds and she groaned as he found the very swollen bud of her arousal and started to rub with two fingers. He was not gentle or careful, he didn't ease into it, he just used his fingers to wring a squirming, noisy, wet climax out of her. She wanted to be taken, and he would take her. She wanted him to make her come, and he would do that, too.

“You are like a drug to me, you know that? I might have to fuck you all night just to get my fill of you,” he said in her ear. “Would you like that, minx? I might have to make you come over and over, pleasure you relentlessly, see just how much you can take and how often you can climax. Is that what you want?”

She nodded and groaned, and he kissed her on the neck before he turned her around so she was facing him while he sat down on a stool to pull of his boots, which he set aside. Then he leaned forward, looking at her in the black Orlesian corset and the sheer black stockings. There were visible scars when she was this undressed, including the one on her arm she'd gotten when they fought the broodmother and he had feared he'd lost her. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, and the various battle scars only made her more interesting in his eyes. He saw them as signs of her strength, of her selflessness, of her courage and her character. Her physical beauty, considerable as it was, paled beside that.

“Let me get my boots off,” he said, “and then you can get me undressed.” She smiled as he sat down on a stool and worked the new leather boots off of his feet and then pulled off his socks and tossed them at the laundry basket. He stood up before her and she opened the clasps on his doublet, and then moved on to the buttons of the shirt and immediately ran her hands over his chest as soon as it was bared to her. He shrugged both garments off and turned to put them carefully on the chest with her gown.

When he turned, she wrapped her arms around him, pressing against him, kissing him on the back as she started to unlace his breeches. When she'd gotten them undone far enough, her hand slipped into his underpants and she wrapped her fingers around his hard cock, making it stiffen even more. Maker, it was almost painful, but in the most delightful way.

“Eager are you?” he said in a half groan. “Did you sit throughout that tedious meal, answering inane questions, participating in their boring conversations, looking every inch the well-bred, proper lady, while you were looking at me across the table and thinking about my cock?”

She chuckled, and pressed her lips to his skin in a lingering kiss. “You do... distract me, and yes, I was thinking about your cock, and your mouth, and your chest, and your arse, and your beautiful legs, and the rest of you, and imagining what we might do when we were alone.”

“Perhaps you should finish undressing me.”

She withdrew her hand and tugged at his breeches, pulling them down along with his his underwear, dropping a kiss on one of his arse cheeks as she did so. While she was squatting at his feet holding the breeches for him, he stepped out of one pants leg and turned, stepping out of the other as he faced her.

“Stay there,” he told her, “though you might want to kneel. Why don't you show me how very much you like my cock, minx?”

She looked up at him through her lashes and then her eyes moved to his very prominent, very hard member. Maker help him, she licked her lips as she moved to her knees. Wrapping an arm around him and caressing one of his arse cheeks, the other hand sliding up his thigh, she buried her nose in his balls, nuzzling and kissing, before planting a trail of kisses from the base of his cock to the very tip. He moaned as she took him into her mouth while wrapping her free hand around the base of his cock, squeezing, stroking, that pleasuring him nearly as much as her mouth. Maker, she wasn't wasting any time or any delicacy, and she was making delightful little pleasure sounds in her throat as she moved her head back and forth, with a little swirling lick of her tongue when she'd pull back.

She started to apply more pressure with her mouth, more suction. He watched her with half-closed eyes, panting as his pleasure built. He put his hands on her head, but he didn't force or restrict her movement at all, just kept his hands there, lovingly, encouragingly, enjoying the feel of her head bobbing as she sucked him. He started to move with her, thrusting his hips in shallow movements, but she seemed determined to take him in as deeply as she could, and he could hear her adjust her breathing to match the rhythm. Maker, it was good; he let his head fall back and let the delicious surge of erotic pleasure overtake him.

He heard her cough slightly, but she held him firmly in her mouth, still sucking gently as she swallowed, moving her mouth slowly down the length of his cock until she finally released him.

As he recovered his senses, she got up from the floor and went to grab the water skin she habitually kept by the bed. She was taking a drink from it as he walked up behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “You always rinse your mouth. Do you object to...”

“I don't mind it,” she said with a shrug. “Me rinsing my mouth is no different from you wiping your face after you've had it between my legs.”

“Point taken, and what an excellent suggestion, minx. On the bed,” he ordered, “on your back, and spread your legs wide for me.”

He followed closely as she went and the moment she was lying down he moved between her legs, kissing her wet, fragrant flesh, then pressing his tongue hard against the nub of flesh there that was standing out prominently, begging for his attention. He was merciless with his mouth. She came to a climax, gasping and calling out his name, and he worked two fingers into her while he wrapped his lips around that lovely bud and sucked. This time when she came, she keened with pleasure, her legs trembling hard, hands moving into his hair as the release wracked her body.

He pulled his face back and looked at her, still rubbing his fingers inside of her, drinking in the sight of his beloved in the soft, flickering light of the fire in the hearth. Her chestnut hair was falling from its binding, tits popping out of the black silk corset, legs still clad in black silk though the ties were coming loose, the necklace he'd given her was askew around her neck. He smiled, working the fingers he had inside of her until she was thrashing again, moaning, gasping for air as she once again came to a climax.

“Do you want me to loosen the ties on the corset?” he asked.

“No, I... I... rather like it, actually. It's a bit hard to breathe, but that... uhm... That just kind of makes it better,” she managed.

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I see. Yes, I may have heard that about corsets, now that you mention it,” he said with a smirk. “Well, if you like that, we'll have to see that you have a Ferelden style corset or two, hmm?”

“I do have,” she said. “I just never wear them.”

“Then you need to start, at least in private.”

“As you say, my lord.”

He wriggled the fingers he still had inside of her and she gave him a saucy little smirk. _Take me, make me come_ , she had said. He moved his other hand to grasp her pearl between his finger and thumb, and she stopped smirking and moaned, her mouth falling open, eyes closed, brows furrowed. She was breathless, oh, yes, and half out of her mind with erotic pleasure, but she wanted more. And more he would give her. More than she thought she was capable of, by the Maker.

He spent quite some time with his face and his fingers between her legs, pleasuring her without mercy or reprieve. He didn't know how many times she had come, and he didn't care, but it pleased him to have her thrashing and squirming and making all kinds of delightful noises. When he eventually felt ready for the next round, he got both of her legs up on his shoulders and knelt up between them, rubbing his semi-erect cock between her slick folds until it was rock hard, and then plunging into her tight, wet, warmth with a groan.

Kneeling up but leaning forward slightly, mindful of the corset that was restricting her movement and her breathing, he started to grind his hips in penetrating, hard thrusts. He increased the rhythm of his hips, driving deeply into her, delighting in the way she moaned his name and moved her own hips in rhythm with his, her delightful cunt completely engulfing him, squeezing him, tightening from deep inside. She turned her head from side to side, gasping, grunting, as yet another climax overwhelmed her and she squeezed his cock so tightly he found it a bit difficult to move. He pressed a thumb to her pearl and she wailed with pleasure and started to tremble. Maker, the woman was magnificent.

“And now,” he said when she was capable of some semblance of rational thought, “I think you need to turn around and get on your hands and knees so I can fuck you Ferelden style in your Orlesian corset, hmm?”

And so it went for hours. Like the first time they'd been together, they moved from the bed to a chair to standing up. This time, they moved from the bedroom to the sitting room and back again. It was well into the small hours of the morning before he decided he'd had enough and she agreed. He could have continued, and so could she – one very pleasant side effect of being a Grey Warden was that the increase in physical endurance lent itself to all manner of physical activity, including this one – but he was sexually and emotionally satisfied to the point that he just wanted to lie with her, holding her, and sleep with her in his arms. He sometimes felt like that was more important than sex, maybe for both of them.

He did loosen the corset, now drenched with sweat, so she could take it off to sleep, and he pulled off her one remaining stocking, the other having slipped off of her leg at some point.

He had never been with a woman with such an abundant propensity for sexual pleasure. Was she just naturally sexually responsive, was her response enhanced by being a Grey Warden, were they simply astoundingly sexually compatible, or was it some combination? He didn't particularly care. Whatever it was, it pleased him.

“I hope that was sufficiently memorable,” Nathaniel murmured as Rowan snuggled up against him in the bed. He worked his arms around her, holding her close to his body.

“Maker, yes. I am well and thoroughly taken.”

“So you are,” he answered with a faint smile as they both drifted to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author and historian Isobel Carr has some interesting information about [corsets](http://www.isobelcarr.com/corsets-facts--myths.html), including the asphyxiation aspect. ;)


	48. Reception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan and Nathaniel attend a reception at the palace. 
> 
> Entirely SFW. ;)

The reception, they had been told, was for a visiting Nevarran prince. There would be music, dancing, and a great many nobles and landholders in attendance, along with wealthy merchants, ambassadors from all over Thedas, and an assortment of other persons of importance or rank.

Nathaniel and Rowan were freshly bathed, though their sojourn in the bath house had been far less private than before. There was no leisurely soaking in the tub, no playful and suggestive banter, because the bath house was full to capacity and more were waiting for their chance to prepare for the evening's festivities.

Their formalwear, including Rowan's fine underclothes, had been cleaned and pressed, and Rowan was surprised to find that Anora had sent a lady's maid called Moira to assist with her preparations. The girl was clever, and had come armed with a case full of cosmetics and hair styling tools, plus a pair of earrings, a gift from the queen, with a message that they would match Rowan's necklace.

By the time the maid was finished, Rowan had red-stained lips and lightly rouged cheeks, her green eyes were lightly rimmed with dark brown for emphasis, and her hair was done in a complicated style of plaits and twists, held in place with polished wooden combs. A few tendrils were left free around her face and neck, so that the earrings, simple, claw-set, heart-shaped rubies, were visible. At her throat was the necklace Nathaniel had given her.

The maid had even brought a selection of perfumes, and Rowan chose a rose and musk, similar to the one she usually favoured but had not brought along with her.

Nathaniel had dressed himself in the other room, mostly because the young maid had seemed quite flustered at the thought of him in an undressed state in her presence. When he was decent, he came in to see Rowan and leaned against the door frame, fixing the cuffs of his shirt.

“Finished?” he asked casually. “You seem to be beautiful enough.”

“Enough for what?” Rowan asked as she stood up. She approached him with a smile and a raised eyebrow.

“Enough to dazzle the court and warm the coldest heart,” he answered smoothly.

“Oh, you are a silver-tongued rogue,” Rowan responded with a smile. “Finish getting ready. What do you need to do, your hair?”

“My lord,” the maid said quietly, “I can do your hair for you, if you like. Plaits, perhaps?”

“Yes, Nate, you always used to wear your hair with side plaits pulled back,” Rowan said as she moved to the doorway and leaned against the frame. “Why did you stop?”

“I found myself with better things to do with my time than fool with my hair, especially at bed time,” he answered.

Rowan chuckled and noticed Moira was blushing slightly but also smiling. Rowan moved aside to watch while the maid motioned for Nathaniel to sit down. When he did, she took up her comb and started to gently untangle his hair, which was now several finger-widths past his shoulders in length. The girl efficiently worked plaits on either temple, pulling them back to be fastened with a leather thong while the rest of his hair stayed loose. It was the style he'd worn until quite recently, and it still suited him admirably.

“My lord,” Moira began, “some gentlemen at court like to employ the careful application of cosmetics for a special event. I could do your eyes if you like. Subtle, not like a raccoon or anything,” the maid hastened to add, hand hovering over the cosmetic case.

“What do you think?” Nathaniel asked, an amused expression on his face as he turned to Rowan.

“Oh, yes, please. I'd quite like to see that. But no rouge or lip stain, I should think.”

“Of course not, my lady. We are not Orlesian,” Moira said cheekily. The girl took up a very small brush and a pot of charcoal grey powder and got to work carefully lining Nathaniel's eyes, asking him to look up or to the side as she worked, and he responded with patient compliance.

“Well?” he said when she finished, turning to Rowan. The effect was very subtle, but it really brought out his eyes in quite an attractive way. “I can see by your face that you like it,” Nathaniel chuckled. “For you, my love, I shall play the painted lord for the evening.”

“Well, if I'm a painted lady, it only seems fair,” Rowan replied.

“Would you care for some scent?” the maid asked as she put away the dark powder she'd used around Nathaniel's eyes.

“My lady likes lavender on me,” Nathaniel said. “I prefer sage. What do you suggest?”

“Oh, I have one here with both,” the girl smiled, withdrawing a small vial. With practised fingers, she dabbed the scented liquid behind each of his ears and at the base of his throat, then held out her arm to indicate he should do the same and she rubbed a bit on one of his wrists and then the other.

Nathaniel stood up while the maid sealed the vial. “My lady, come here,” he said to Rowan in a voice that was almost seductive. “Do you approve?”

Rowan stepped toward him to put her nose close to his throat.

“Maker, that's wonderful,” she said appreciatively. “We'll need to find some more of that before we leave Denerim.”

“Oh, I can tell you where the perfumery is,” the maid offered, and named a street about two or three blocks from Madame Furline's very discreet speciality shop.

“Thank you, Moira, you've been most helpful,” Rowan said with a smile. “I will mention your excellent assistance to Her Majesty.”

“Thank you, my lady,” the girl answered, dropping to a curtsey. “It is an honour to serve the Hero of Ferelden. And also you, my lord. I hope you enjoy your evening together.”

“Thank you,” Nathaniel said with a smile.

Moira took her leave and Nathaniel looked at Rowan and said, “You really are astoundingly beautiful.” He kissed her on the forehead so as not to muss her makeup.

“I could say the same of you,” she told him with great appreciation. He offered her his arm and she tucked her hand into his elbow.

Ser Barkley was in the courtyard, lying happily in the grass. “You wait here for us, yes?” Rowan said, and the dog made a noise and wriggled his stumpy tail. “We'll probably be late, so don't worry.”

Just then, Sigrun emerged from her room, and Evon appeared shortly, no doubt on their way to dinner.

“Commander, you look... like a proper lady,” Sigrun said, her voice full of awe. “I've never seen... wow. Just... wow. And... Nate? Are... you wearing eyeliner?”

Nathaniel rolled his eyes for effect. “It's the fashion at court. We're going to a formal reception, so I may as well look the part. Do I look the fool?”

“No, ser, not at all,” Evon said earnestly, brushing his floppy brown hair out of his eyes. “You look... well, noble is what you look, ser. You two will be the handsomest couple there, no mistake about that.”

Rowan smiled. “Thank you. Are you on your way to dinner? Where's Jack?”

Evon smirked. “He's struck up a close relationship with one of the laundry maids, Tilda. I think he said she was taking him to meet her mother tonight.”

“Oh, my, it's serious, then? That was quick,” Rowan said.

“Sometimes it happens that way,” Evon said with a shrug. “I wouldn't be surprised if he sent for her after we get back to the Keep. Or even brought he with us when we return. I mean, assuming you'd have that.”

“Vigil's Keep is enormous and there's plenty of room,” Rowan pointed out. “I certainly have no objections to soldiers having sweethearts or wives.”

“I should hope not,” Sigrun said, looking between Rowan and Nathaniel meaningfully. “Well, I'm hungry, so we're off to dinner now. Have fun being beautiful and important and impressive and all that.” A huge grin spread over the dwarf's tattooed face and she winked. Cheeky, Rowan thought. And Sigrun's assessment of their planned evening was irreverent, but entirely correct.

The reception hall was beautifully lit. Quiet chamber music drifted down from the minstrel's gallery and the guests mingled and gossiped and flirted in their beautiful gowns, holding goblets of wine, mead, ale, and cider, eating off of the small plates one got from the finger-food buffet generally offered at events like this. Perfume of all descriptions scented the air, and a soft, cool spring breeze wafted in from the open balcony doors.

“Rowan!” called a masculine voice from across the hall. She turned to see none other than her brother, the Teyrn of Highever, approaching her, a huge grin on his handsome face. He was wearing some sort of formal uniform, rich, deep brown and gold, with a sash across the chest and around the waist, and fringed epaulettes. He looked every inch the general and the lord. The unmarried ladies and parents of same would most definitely take notice of the handsome, widowed teyrn in their midst.

“Fergus!” she answered, letting him sweep her up in a bear hug of an embrace. “What are you doing here?”

“I had to come to Denerim on military matters, and Her Majesty sent word that I should attend. Fortunately, I keep formal clothes in my quarters at Fort Drakon.”

Rowan shuddered slightly at the name of the place where she'd fought the archdemon. Not only that, she had been imprisoned there for killing Rendon Howe. The fort held only bad memories. If Fergus noticed her discomfort, he said nothing.

“You look very handsome in your uniform,” she told him. “You'll get a lot of attention from ladies looking for a husband, as well as all the lords wanting to marry off their daughters.”

Fergus rolled his eyes. “So I have been learning. Now I know why you got so annoyed by the parade of suitors you used to get.”

Rowan laughed and nodded.

“You look beautiful,” he said, changing the subject. “The necklace, a gift from Nathaniel?”

“Well spotted,” Nathaniel said. “And good evening to you, too.”

“Maker's balls, Nate, aren't you just done up like a proper lord with your silk brocade doublet and striped breeches. Don't the Grey Wardens have uniforms?”

“There's armour with the insignia,” Nathaniel said, “but even so, there are no formal uniforms like the one you're wearing. Grey Wardens usually don't get invited to royal receptions and fancy parties, you know.”

“And yet, here you are,” Fergus pointed out.

“Yes, strangely, here we are,” Nathaniel agreed.

“Ugh, here comes Bann Everson,” Fergus said. “He has a daughter he's been shopping around. I'm going to make myself scarce for a little while, as I have no interest in being his son-in-law. Rowan, save a dance for your loving brother, hmm? Nate, don't bother to save a dance for me, mate, you're too hard to lift and there's no way I'd let you lead. I'll talk to you both later.”

Rowan chuckled as Fergus hurried off and then she turned to Nathaniel. “Have you danced with my brother, then?”

“No,” he answered decisively, making her smirk. “And I dance proficiently and lead quite well, regardless of what your brother claims.”

He offered her his arm and she tucked her hand into his elbow with a smile. Since they'd been in Denerim, she'd seen a side of him she had not before, or had only seen in glimmers and glimpses, anyway. She very much liked it. He was confident, noble, very much in control, Maker, he was as close to perfection in a man as Rowan had ever seen.

“Keep looking at me like that,” he said quietly, “and we may not get to dance, because I'll have to carry you off in a most scandalous manner and give you what you want.”

“Oh, I think I'll need persuasion.”

“Oh, yes?”

“Perhaps you might have to seduce me.”

“You... Oh, I see,” he said with a wicked little smirk. “Don't take this as an insult, my love, but you wouldn't be much of a challenge. You've got all the signs of a woman who very much wants to be with me.”

“As I did for months before we became lovers, and yet I didn't give in to my thoughts of pushing you up against the wall to kiss you or grabbing that marvellous arse of yours or falling to my knees in front of you and...” She stopped, and inhaled, then smiled. “Sometimes, a woman needs or indeed wants to be persuaded.”

“My lady, are you negotiating?”

“I suppose I am, my lord.”

“Very well, then. I will be most pleased to demonstrate my skills of persuasion. In the meantime, I think I'd like to see what delicacies they have on that buffet table. Shall we?”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on Nate's fragrance. My husband wears a classic fragrance, Caron Pour Homme, that is sage and lavender (with a vanilla base). I never would have thought it would work on him, but it's delicious. So I put Nate in lavender and sage, as well. It's a nice, masculine, outdoorsy sort of combination (and I do draw a lot of inspiration from my own husband, who is not much like Nathaniel, but Nathaniel has some of my husband's more appealing qualities, for sure).


	49. Talk the Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the royal reception gets underway.

Anora arrived in the company of Teagan. The queen was resplendent in a gown done in multiple shades of blue. Teagan wore a doublet and breeches of russet, red, and brown, an outfit Rowan had seen before and which she always thought particularly suited his colouring. There was no fanfare or other announcement because the gathering was not formal enough to warrant that kind of display, but the queen's arrival was noted and there was a general murmuring amongst the crowd.

Rowan was finishing a finger sandwich of smoked ham and sharp cheese on a piece of crisp bread when she saw Teagan gesturing to her.

“I believe we're being called upon,” she said to Nathaniel, who glanced toward Teagan and the queen. “I'd be happier staying here and eating more, but there will be plenty of food throughout the long and tedious evening, and later there will be sweets. We'd better go and play our parts.”

Nathaniel nodded and offered Rowan his arm, a gesture that was becoming more and more natural for them, and together they walked at a leisurely pace to where Anora and Teagan were standing. Both the queen and her advisor watched them as they approached.

“I dare say, you two do make a most fetching couple,” Anora said with a smile. “And Lieutenant Commander Howe, you look even more dashing than the last time we met. I hope you will save a dance for your queen?”

“I... Yes, of course, Your Majesty,” Nathaniel said, surprised by the request.

Anora turned to Rowan and said, “I see the the earrings suit you. And, as I had hoped, they match your darling necklace.”

“Your Majesty, you are far too generous with me.”

The exchange was all too familiar. Anora had always been, in Rowan's opinion, too lavish with her gifts. As far as Rowan was concerned, she'd done her duty and while acknowledgement was all well and good, it simply was what it was. Anora, on the other hand, felt that the Hero of Ferelden, who had, at what turned out to be great personal cost, spared Anora's father, secured Anora's claim to the throne, and saved Ferelden from a Blight, should be showered in gifts of all kinds.

“Oh, I don't believe I am,” Anora answered with a little smile and a dismissive wave of her elegant hand. “Just humour me.”

Rowan looked at Anora and saw the twinkle of amusement in the other woman's deep blue eyes.

“As you wish, Your Majesty,” she answered with the tiniest of smiles. “Thank you. I do appreciate the gift, and I hope you are sufficiently humoured.”

“That's more like it,” Anora said with a laugh and a tilt of her blonde head. “Oh, here's Prince Fredeoric now. I shall introduce you.”

Maker, was the queen really going to introduce Nathaniel to a visiting prince, the guest of honour, in front of the gathered courtiers and dignitaries? It seemed she was.

The prince was the most ordinary and unremarkable man Rowan had ever seen. His hair was dun coloured and cut in an uninspiring style, his complexion was neutral, his looks plain. He was finely dressed, but otherwise entirely forgettable and not a man one would notice in a crowd.

Unlike Nathaniel Howe, whose excellent posture, noble bearing, and dark, unconventional good looks were drawing many an eye and generating a great deal of whispering and murmuring. It was particularly noteworthy, since he was standing proudly with the monarch, her trusted advisor, visiting royalty, and the Hero of Ferelden, and yet was the son and heir of the war criminal who was now known far and wide as the Butcher of Denerim.

Nathaniel, however, didn't look like the son of a war criminal. Anyone observing would have seen a man who was charming but not absurdly so, gracious as well as graceful, comfortable in the presence of royalty, being both attentive and appropriately deferential, but not obsequious or toadying as so many courtiers tended to do. If there was any sense of personal guilt or shame for his father's crimes, he did not show it. He held himself like a man who had nothing to hide.

Anora had introduced Nathaniel by his full name and formal rank, Lieutenant Commander of the Grey. Rowan, she introduced as Warden-Commander Rowan Cousland, Arl of Amaranthine and Hero of Ferelden. She didn't introduce Bann Teagan Guerrin of Rainesfere; presumably he and the prince had already met. The entirely ordinary Nevarran was, by proper title, His Highness Prince Fredeoric Pentaghast of Cumberland, and he was in Denerim to arrange some sort of trade arrangement with Ferelden.

“Oh, there's the Teyrn of Highever,” Anora said brightly, and waved to him. Rowan swivelled her head to see her brother and flashed him a broad grin as he approached the small group of notables. Anora introduced him to the Nevarran prince as Teyrn Fergus Cousland of Highever, referring to him as her trusted general and the brother of Ferelden's Warden-Commander.

And so now, the Teyrn of Highever, who had good reason to hate Nathaniel Howe, was speaking to him as an old friend while the Teryrn's sister, his only living relative and one of the few survivors of the Highever Massacre, which was ordered by none other than Nathaniel's father, stood with her hand tucked into Howe's elbow, looking at him with obvious affection and even pride, laughing at some jest.

Yes, when Anora orchestrated something, she did it meticulously and, in this case, splendidly. Nathaniel Howe was not a party to the crimes of the Butcher of Denerim and he is a man of rank and honour and has the support of the Crown and of the two living Couslands. Likewise, Loghain, the Traitor Teyrn, who became a Grey Warden and sacrificed himself to end the Blight, had done many reprehensible things before his redemption, but his daughter who was queen was not a party to those crimes, and she had an ally in the people's hero and the support of the most prominent and powerful noble house in the country.

The message could not be clearer. The sins of the father are not the sins of the son. Or of the daughter.

The Nevarran prince asked Rowan about the archdemon, of course, as almost everyone did once they knew who she was. She answered in a way that she had perfected during her months at court after the Blight, which was clear but non-committal.

“Serrah,” the prince said to Nathaniel with an appraising look, “have we met? You seem strikingly familiar.”

“I spent many years in the Free Marches in the service of Ser Rodolphe Varley, Your Highness, and only returned to Ferelden recently. When I was with Ser Rodolphe, much of my time was spent at the royal court of Starkhaven, though we travelled throughout the Marches.”

“Ah!” the prince returned with a smile. “While I do not know Varley as far as I can recall, I have spent rather a lot of time at the court of Starkhaven. It seems quite likely we have attended some of the same events, serrah, though I dare say you and I never spoke. I would have certainly remembered such.”

The prince swept his eyes from Nathaniel's face to his shoulders and then quickly down. Rowan smiled, trying not to giggle. Nathaniel always went on about how she had so many admirers, but he had plenty of his own. Anders had fancied him, the Antivan noblewoman whose name Rowan couldn't recall had practically handed him an invitation to her bed, now a Nevarran prince was very nearly flirting with him.

To his credit, Nathaniel smiled cordially and tipped his head respectfully and seemed entirely unfazed by Fredeoric's interest. Where Rowan tended not to pay attention to attention to flirtation and longing glances, Nathaniel was always quite keenly aware, and simply took it in stride.

Prince Fredeoric, being well-versed in matters of political social gatherings, gave Nathaniel a smile and turned his attention to Fergus. Rowan didn't fail to notice the prince's appreciative glances at her handsome brother. Fergus was either oblivious to the prince's interest or he was ignoring it, and he spoke on broad military matters, and a bit about the army's work on restoration following the Blight. Teagan, standing at Rowan's right side, turned to her and nodded slightly with a barely perceptible smile, and Rowan glanced at the other guests, who were all watching, some more openly than others.

“If you will excuse us, Your Majesty?” Rowan said eventually. “I'm sure there must be others who would like to meet your guest of honour and to speak with you.”

Anora smiled, a knowing look in her eye. Rowan had been the guest of honour at more than one reception of this sort, and knew the routine all too well. Anora would wander around the room with the guest of honour, speaking with various attendees, introducing the prince, and he would make polite and mostly inane conversation with them, quite possibly answering the same questions over and over and over again. Rowan did not envy him, and she actually cast him a sympathetic glance and a smile.

“Yes, of course,” Anora said. “Do have some spiced wine. We have a new Antivan cellar master who brought with him a number of interesting innovations.”

“Thank you for the advice, Your Majesty,” Rowan answered, nodding her head respectfully. “Fergus, do you care to join us?”

“Yes, I believe I will,” he said, shooting Rowan a look of gratitude. “Your Highness, Your Majesty. Bann Teagan.”

The three of them walked at a sedate pace to the table where the spirits and wine were set out. Ordinarily, Rowan would choose the Rainesfere cider, but the spiced wine did sound lovely, so she accepted a goblet of that and took a sip, finding it honeyed as well. She nodded and made a noise of appreciation, so Fergus followed her lead and had the same. Nathaniel accepted a mug of dark ale, and was pleased to hear it was Amaranthine.

“Do you want me to try to deflect all the marriage offers for you?” Rowan asked of Fergus with a smirk as the trio strolled toward the broad balcony at the far end of the hall.

“You are the expert,” Fergus answered.

Nathaniel snorted, but Rowan just rolled her eyes.

“If you're going to be an arse, I might just start going around telling people my brother is looking for a wife.”

Fergus grinned and shook his head. “Same old spitfire,” he said. Then his expression sobered and he said, “But I really should start at least thinking about taking a wife, else there will be no more Couslands. That's quite the responsibility.”

“Yes, well, we all know that Couslands always do their duty.”

“Indeed,” Fergus replied, and they were all quiet for a time as they walked.

“Nate,” Fergus said eventually, breaking the tension of sadness, “remember when you and I would have to attend things like this?”

“Oh, yes,” Nathaniel answered. “By this time we would have been starting to narrow down the choices.”

Rowan rolled her eyes. “I'm standing right here.”

“Which is excellent,” Nathaniel answered with a smirk, “because you're the choice I already narrowed it down to, though I had been considering the elderly dowager over there, the one with the missing teeth in the front. You'd be surprised what a woman with no teeth can – what?” he laughed when Rowan hit him playfully in the ribs with her elbow. “I was only considering it. I did already choose you. You're the most desirable woman here.”

“Nate, I don't think my sister would be much of a challenge,” Fergus said, nodding politely to someone as they passed.

“I told her the exact same thing earlier,” Nathaniel said with a chuckle.

“I am still right here,” Rowan said with mock exasperation.

Fergus got to the edge of the balcony and leaned against the stone balustrade and looked at her. “Why, so you are! Look, Nate, it's my very troublesome and saucy little sister, standing right here. Still following us around, are you?”

“Troublesome I may be, and not much of a challenge for Nathaniel, but I'll bet you could give him a good run for the points if you put in a bit of effort,” Rowan said over the rim of her goblet while Fergus choked on the contents of his. “After all, he's only got me, and you've got all manner of women who would be happy to dally with you in some darkened corner or alcove or unused foyer.”

Fergus sputtered and frowned at Nathaniel, who grinned.

“Don't worry, Fergus, your sister doesn't know the half of what we got up to,” Nathaniel said with a wave of his hand. “The thing is, I've promised her I'd always answer her questions honestly, and she already knew about the competition, knew that it had rules, and so when she asked about it quite specifically, there was nothing I could do, mate. But unless she asks very directly and very specifically, I won't be volunteering any more information. Of course, if she ever asks directly about greased nugs or a dwarf with a feathered whip...”

Fergus snorted and Rowan had to laugh. Nathaniel was in spectacular form. She'd seen glimpses of it, but she'd never seen him quite like this, and it was dazzling. He was relaxed, confident, joking. During the time they'd been in Denerim, he was opening up like a flower to the sun and it was quite something to behold.

When she'd first seen him in that dungeon he had been broken, angry, deeply confused and so very lost, his whole world in ruins. He was no longer an heir of Amaranthine, he was no longer a member of a proud and well-respected family, he was no longer a lord, nor even a ser. Small wonder he had a countenance like a thundercloud and an attitude to match. But now... Maker. He was so strong, and so graceful, and so beautiful. He turned heads, including hers. And that wasn't all he was doing to her.

“She's got the look, Nate,” Fergus said, gesturing toward Rowan with his goblet. “The _oh, Maker, my knickers are sliding right off_ look. I saw enough women look at you that way when we were younger, but I never expected to see that look on the face of my little sister, especially for _you_.”

“Why not for me?” Nathaniel asked as he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “We're a brilliant match, and no one could ever love her more or better than I do.” He turned and looked at her, his grey eyes so warm with affection and desire that Rowan's heart skipped a beat.

“Ugh,” Fergus said with mock disgust. “Now you have the same look. Besotted, the both of you.”

 


	50. Dance With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is dancing and flirting and public displays of affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> [](http://i.imgur.com/IWqBQcz.jpg)  
> **[click for larger image](http://i.imgur.com/IWqBQcz.jpg)**  
> 
> 
> Art commissioned from the lovely Eve at [Phoqing Art](http://phoqingart.tumblr.com/). I highly recommend working with her. She's great. :)

 

The balcony corner where the three of them were standing turned out to be a good hiding place if one wanted to avoid the attentions of unwanted suitors and dreary courtiers, and they were perfectly happy with that, joking and talking amiably amongst themselves about all manner of topics. When the musicians struck up the music that signalled the beginning of the dancing and everyone started back to the hall, Nathaniel took a deep breath, and prepared to give the performance expected of him.

Nathaniel offered to put their empty goblets and his mug in the wooden bin near the drinks table as Fergus walked into the hall with Rowan on his arm. They made a striking pair, both remarkably good-looking, with strong jaws and expressive features, both dark haired, though Rowan's hair was several shades lighter and had a soft, burnished, deep golden glow in the light of the many candles that lit the room, while Fergus' hair was so dark it was nearly black. The family resemblance between them was unmistakable.

Nathaniel chuckled to himself. What did it say about him that he was in love with a woman who looked so much like the friend with whom he once caroused? Probably nothing, he decided, other than that good looks ran in the Cousland family.

Teagan was standing next to Anora and the visiting prince. When the music changed, indicating the first dance, the prince and the queen took to the dance floor, and Teagan discreetly made his way to where Fergus and Rowan were standing, just as Nathaniel returned to her side.

“Teryn Cousland,” Teagan said, “Her Majesty would be honoured to dance with you when the present song is over.”

Fergus nodded. “Certainly.” He was the highest ranked Ferelden noble in the room. Of course the queen would acknowledge that.

Teagan turned to Nathaniel. “I'll signal you when it's time to approach the queen. Rowan, when he does, come forward with him. Teyrn Cousland, remain close when your dance with the queen is over, and when Nathaniel approaches with your sister, if you would be so good as to dance with her?”

“Of course I will,” Fergus said with a grin. “I already intended to do so at some point. May as well be early on.”

“Excellent,” Teagan acknowledged. “And then, Her Majesty feels it would be best if the Warden-Commander and her Lieutenant took to the dance floor together, along with a few other pairings. After that, you're free to do as you please, of course, but, if you would save a dance for a friend, my Lady Cousland, I would be delighted to take you in my arms again.”

Nathaniel rolled his eyes, but Rowan just laughed and Teagan winked at her before he moved off through the crowd to have a few quiet words with a few of the other guests, nobility and others the queen felt would make appropriate dance partners.

“I'd better go, Pup,” Fergus said. “See you in a few minutes. I hope you remember how to dance, but don't worry, I'm a strong lead. I won't let you disgrace the Cousland name with clumsy feet.”

Before Rowan could offer a sassy retort, Fergus had turned and was moving through the crowd toward the other side of the dance floor. The song finished and the queen curtsied to Prince Fredeoric, who bowed and stepped away from the dancing area and right over to where Rowan and Nathaniel were standing.

“Perhaps you might honour me with a dance, Warden-Commander?” the man asked. “I understand you have other formal obligations first, but later, perhaps? With your husband's approval, of course.”

“Oh, he's not my husband,” Rowan said with a little laugh.

“Alas, that's true,” Nathaniel put in quickly, “but husband or not, I have no objection to the Commander dancing with an honoured guest, Your Highness.”

The prince raised an eyebrow and tilted his head speculatively, but smiled. “Until later, then,” he said, and made his way toward the drink table.

“You know,” Nathaniel said very quietly, leaning in toward her ear, “nothing would give me more pleasure than to be your husband.”

“Nothing?” Rowan asked suggestively, keeping her eyes on the crowd.

“We could be married in the palace, and your brother is even here to give you away,” Nathaniel pointed out.

“As if I'm his to give,” she snorted. “No, thank you. If I were to agree to marry you, I would not have our wedding at the palace.”

“Where, then?”

“I... haven't really thought about it. I suppose Vigil's Keep. It's our home, after all.”

“Not Highever?”

She shook her head. “You know I haven't been back there since... No. Not Highever. But I have not agreed to marry you.”

“That's why I keep asking. Should I stop?” he asked, very softly. He had asked her this before. She always found ways to tell him to keep at it.

“You're such a stubborn man, I'm sure I can't stop you,” she answered, and he smiled.

“As you like, my love.”

He knew perfectly well that she liked that he wanted to marry her, no matter how much she pretended it was a nuisance to be asked. One day, she was going to say yes. He had no doubt of that.

The music stopped and Fergus bowed to the queen. Her Majesty smiled at him and thanked him for the dance, and then stepped aside to take a goblet of wine from a servant. Fergus stepped politely into the crowd.

Oh, there's the lady who had dinner with us the other night,” Rowan said with a smirk. “The one who asked if Fergus was still unmarried. She's headed right to him, so it seems she's decided to find out for herself.”

“Perhaps we should go and rescue him. We'll be called upon very shortly, anyway.”

“I feel somewhat sorry for him, but somewhat pleased to see him squirm,” she said to Nathaniel as she took his arm. “He used to tease me mercilessly about my many suitors and how I turned them all down and even tried to avoid some of them completely. It seems the shoe is on the other foot.”

“What if I'd been one of your suitors?” Nathaniel asked as they strolled slowly toward the other side of the hall.

“I... have wondered that, in fact. You might have been able to turn my head, but... I don't know. Circumstances and all that... timing...”

“If I had been trying to court you, I might well have tried to seduce you,” he suggested, his voice low and husky.

“I might have let you,” she answered. He wondered if there was any truth to that or if she was just being saucy, but now was not the time for contemplation.

Queen Anora had returned to standing in her place at the end of the dance floor as they approached her. Rowan curtsied as Nathaniel bowed, again in almost perfect unison and entirely unrehearsed.

“Your Majesty,” Nathaniel said, offering the queen his hand.

A collective, quiet gasp went up, and a soft murmur.

“Lieutenant Commander,” she answered with a beatific smile as she lay her elegant hand on his upturned palm.

Fergus offered his hand to Rowan and she smiled at him fondly as they moved into position, but Nathaniel only caught a glimpse of them because he was leading the Queen of Ferelden onto the dance floor. He suddenly remembered, all those months ago, when he had been in the dungeon cell at Vigil's Keep and Rowan had suggested to him that he should work to clear his family name, and he had sneered sarcastically that he would just go and offer his services to the Queen, because, oh, yes, she would give a Howe a second chance.

But that was just what was happening here. Anora had, in fact, given away his family's holdings and title, but while Nathaniel didn't like it, he was surprisingly not bitter about it. Given the circumstances and his father's crimes, it had been appropriate, if not especially fair to him or to Delilah. But Delilah didn't seem to care in the least, was far happier as the wife of a merchant than she would have been as a lady and the wife of a lord. If he was truthful, Nathaniel would have to admit that he had never particularly wanted to be Arl of Amaranthine, and he was surprisingly content in his role as a Grey Warden.

Nathaniel was a good dancer, and he knew the steps well and led strongly, stepping forward and back, his hand lightly on the queen's waist, then releasing her, holding just her fingertips for a spin.

She was pretty, the queen. All milk and honey and with large, deep blue eyes, her blonde hair elegantly coiled at the nape of her long neck. Nathaniel supposed she must have taken her looks from her mother, because he knew that Loghain had been dark, with strong, heavy features. People occasionally told Nathaniel he resembled the Hero of River Dane. Even Rowan had mentioned it in passing.

He and the queen turned to face each other and stepped forward and back and then into a series of circular steps, their palms pressed together.

Nathaniel was pleased to find that he was still able to easily navigate the royal court of Ferelden, although he had no desire to spend much time here. Politics held no allure for him and never had, but he liked knowing he could still negotiate these corridors of power with relative ease. He would also admit that he quite liked people spontaneously calling him _my lord_. He had been that once, a lord. Cocky and sure of himself, confident to the point of arrogance, he had known exactly who he was, then. He thought he had lost that, but clearly, he had not. Only now, he was a better man as Nathaniel Howe the Grey Warden than he ever would have been as Nathaniel Howe the arl.

He put a hand on Anora's waist again, his other hand holding hers, and they turned, going through the set steps of the dance. He wasn't sure the etiquette about speaking to her. Probably, it was entirely permissible to strike up a conversation, but just in case it wasn't, he kept quiet, though he did meet the queen's gaze as they went through the motions and he smiled, he hoped charmingly.

As they turned, Nathaniel got a glimpse of Rowan and Fergus on the dance floor, both of them laughing over some jest or maybe just sharing a happy memory, and his heart swelled with love and pride.

“You are hopelessly enamoured of the Warden-Commander,” the queen said with an almost impish smile as he released her waist and held her hand before them and they walked, shoulder to shoulder for the next few steps.

“I am,” he agreed.

“It's all very romantic, but do keep in mind that she is special to me, and to the people of Ferelden. If you hurt her, it could be quite unfortunate for you.”

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow and they turned, then stepped forward and back, palms together.

“Is that a threat, Your Majesty?” He said it lightly, jokingly, but he meant it.

Anora laughed, a charming, almost musical sound. “No, of course not,” she said, meeting his gaze quite directly. “It's a warning.”

He put his hands on her waist and she put her hands on his shoulders for a lift to accompany her jump.

“Your Majesty, with every respect,” he said pointedly, “she is most special _to me._ ”

“I am pleased to hear the conviction in your voice and see it in your face,” the queen said with a satisfied smile as she looked him in the eye. Then, louder, in her courtly voice, just as the dance concluded, she said, “You dance wonderfully, Lieutenant Commander. You must have spent a great deal of time in royal and noble courts during your many years in the Free Marches.” He bowed deeply to her as she gave a half curtsey. Nathaniel straightened and found himself standing beside Fergus, who had just bowed to his sister.

Nathaniel turned to Rowan with a smile and took her hand and raised it to his lips.

“May I have the next dance, my lady?”

“Of course, my lord,” she answered with a smile.

Maker, when she looked at him like that, he felt like he could do anything, be anything. For her, for himself, for the world. What would have become of him without her? He would not consider it, could not.

The dance floor had been opened to all, and there were several couples participating. This was a faster dance, with a fair bit of physical exertion and grace required. Nathaniel took Rowan's hand and spun her, stepped close, put his hands on her waist and did a lift with her jump, and she was laughing, her green eyes sparkling and she could not have been more beautiful.

They moved through the next round of steps, he took her hand as if to spin her, but instead he caught her in a dip on his arm, and the crowd murmured. He pulled her to her feet and they continued the lively steps. When he put his hands on her waist again and lifted her, she blew him a kiss, making him raise one eyebrow at her.

His expression said, _everyone is watching_. Her answering expression returned, as clear as day to him, _let them watch_. The dance was supposed to end with a spin and then the traditional bow and curtsey, but he once again caught her in a dip and this time when he pulled her up he kissed her on the mouth. It was a quick kiss, nothing scandalous, but it was a very public declaration of their romantic relationship, and there were gasps, a few sighs, and a giggle or two from amongst the guests, as well as a smattering of applause.

Nathaniel bowed to her, still holding her hand, while she dropped into a curtsey, her face flushed, bosom rising and falling very prettily. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers.

“A drink?” Nathaniel asked, drawing her away from the dance floor, still holding her hand.

“Yes, please,” she said, and they made their way to the drinks table, ignoring the many eyes upon them and the whispers and murmurs that followed them. Rowan had another goblet of the honeyed, spiced wine. Nathaniel declined for the time being, but did take a quick drink from her cup.

“It's rather warm in here, don't you think?” he asked quietly, looking at her meaningfully. “Would you care for a walk in the garden, my lady?”

“I believe I would, my lord, though I should first have a word with my brother before we disappear...”

“Your brother won't mind, and he needn't be informed.”

Rowan tipped her head and smiled. “As you say, my lord.”

 


	51. An Interlude in the Garden (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel and Rowan step into the garden and behave scandalously. 
> 
> NSFW because Nathaniel is a man of his word.

“I take it you've visited these gardens before, my lady?” Nathaniel said as he and Rowan strolled along the gravel path, arm in arm.

“I have,” she answered before she lifted her goblet to her lips as they walked.

“With a lover?”

“Impertinent,” she scolded.

“I only thought that you might you know of a good place for us to have a bit of privacy.”

“I see. What are you suggesting, my lord?”  
  
“Whatever you like, my lady.”

A thrill ran through her at the thought of being seduced in the palace garden by an incorrigible rake, even if it was only a game. Or maybe because it was a game.

“This way,” she said conversationally, and directed him toward a far, dark corner of the gardens. “Though it is possible someone else is already there. You know how these gatherings are. Best approach with caution.”

The place she had in mind was free this early in the evening. It was quite secluded for being in so public an area, a small alcove partly occupied by a covered, stone bench, a place to shelter in the rain or from the wind. A hedge partially hid it from casual view. It was as if the spot was made for clandestine meetings, and perhaps it had been. Slipping away with a lover or a would-be lover was a time-honoured tradition at events like this.

Nathaniel took her goblet from her hand and set it on the bench, and then gently backed Rowan up against the wall and leaned in, his face very close to hers, his weight supported by his arms on either side of her. She thought he was going to kiss her, but he just rubbed the tip of his long nose against hers, their breath mingling. His lips were so close, so tempting, she tilted her head and kissed him and heard a throaty chuckle as he returned the kiss.

“I knew you wanted to kiss me,” he said when he broke the kiss, and she could see the cocky smile on his face even in the semi-darkness. “What else might you want to do, I wonder?”

“Again, my lord, what are you suggesting?” she asked.

“I'm not suggesting anything at the moment, my lady, but feel free to make your own suggestions.”

“And what if I suggest that we go back inside?”

He stood up straight and offered her his arm. “Then we'll go back inside. I'm sure you're eager to dance with that Nevarran prince, my lady. You did promise. And I believe Bann Teagan wanted a dance, and there must be other admirers who would enjoy a turn on the dance floor with you.”

She raised an eyebrow. She was tempted to just go back inside and teach him a lesson, but what lesson would that be, really? The fact was, she did want to dally with him in this secluded corner of the garden, and she was very much enjoying their play and pretences.

“Perhaps in a bit,” she said.

“That's what I thought,” Nathaniel said silkily as he leaned back in to her. “Now, did you want to just stand here and chat? We can –”

She cut him off with another kiss as she put her arms around his neck. She pushed her tongue into his mouth boldly, hungrily, and he responded in kind.

“You have a lovely, soft, hungry mouth,” he said when he eventually pulled back, both of them panting slightly. “Mine isn't as soft as yours, but I do have a few pleasurable things I know how to do with it, if you're interested.”

She gasped, more because she was aroused than because she was shocked, but it suited the pretence. He chuckled and raised a hand to her shoulder and let his fingers trail slowly down her chest to her mounded breasts.

“You are insolent,” she said, “and you take liberties.”

“Do I? If I'm taking anything you don't wish to offer, you have only to say.”

He leaned forward again, rubbing his nose against her neck, and then he kissed her just under the ear, and then again, and again, down the column of her neck and then across one collarbone and down her chest, making her pulse increase. He paused just as his lips reached the top edge of her bodice.

“Perhaps there is something you could help me with,” she said in a low, husky voice. “The corset I'm wearing constricts and, ah, rubs. After the dancing, I find myself in quite an uncomfortable state.”

“Oh, do you? And you'd like my help, my lady?”

“If you please, my lord,” she answered, her breath fast and somewhat erratic.

“It's the least I can do for so beautiful a lady,” he said, sliding his fingers under the neckline of her gown and beneath the corset to pull one of her breasts up and expose her nipple to the night air, “with such beautiful tits.”

Her nipple was erect and absolutely aching from the constant pressure and friction. It had been tolerable most of the evening, but the dancing had made it so much worse, and now that she was so aroused, she desperately wanted relief.

“Oh, yes...” she whispered, and he freed her other breast. He gently pushed her farther into the darkened corner with his back to the open side of the alcove.

Anyone coming around the corner at the right angle would know there was a couple there, but unless they looked very, very hard, which was unlikely because it would be a terrible breach of etiquette, an accidental onlooker wouldn't be able to tell precisely what was going on. The goblet sitting on the bench, of course, was a discreet signal that the spot was occupied.

Nathaniel pressed his weight against her slightly and brought both his hands to her exposed nipples, and when he started to pinch and roll them, she couldn't suppress a groan of pleasure. Maker, that was _good_.

“How's that?” he asked and she nodded, not trusting herself to speak. “I can do more, if you wish. Shall I demonstrate what I can do with my mouth?”

“Yes,” she breathed and he chuckled as he lowered his head to one breast and drew her nipple into his mouth, suckling and rubbing with his tongue and even very slightly with his teeth. She wanted to cry out from the pleasure, to moan and whimper, but it was entirely inappropriate, so she bit her lip and did her best to keep quiet. She was powerfully aroused now, her whole body tingling with excitement and screaming for relief from the delightful, hot, wicked, throbbing between her legs.

He moved his mouth to her other nipple and the one he'd left behind was wet and very stiff in the cool air. He pinched it hard, almost too hard. _Almost._ Rowan struggled to suppress a groan.

“My lady, are you well?” he asked, lifting his head. “You seem quite overwrought. How might I assist?”

 _Bend me over that bench and fuck me until I see stars_ , she thought. Instead, she said, “Suggestions, my lord?”

“I have a few thoughts.”

“Show me.”

He was right about her, she was no challenge at all. He was her lover, and she'd do most things he asked, maybe anything he asked, and he knew it and so did she. But, yes, the game they were playing was very enjoyable and terribly exciting, and it was, when all was said and done, quite risky, which only added to the pleasure.

“Lift your skirt for me?” he asked. She raised an eyebrow. There was probably a point or two for getting the woman to do it rather than doing it yourself, she thought with cynical amusement. But what had he said to Fergus weeks ago? _Yours is the only skirt I'm interested in now and you usually lift it yourself._ She got hold of the silk and gathered it up until the front hem was about mid-thigh.

“That will do, my lady,” he said, and slipped his hand beneath, wiggling his fingers into her silk knickers. “Oh, my lady, you are... very much in need of my assistance,” he groaned, and he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close while he rubbed in slow, delicious circles around the very swollen, throbbing knot of nerves between her folds.

She moaned. Her knees were going weak, and he held her with his his arm, kissing her to muffle her noises, and her exposed nipples rubbed against the brocade of his doublet. _Oh, it was good, so good..._ It didn't take long before the pleasure overwhelmed her and she shuddered hard with a climax, her noises muffled by his mouth as he kissed her and pulled her tight to him with the arm he had around her waist.

Before she had a chance to recover or to ask for more, he put his mouth next to her ear and asked, “Well, I've shown you my clever fingers. Shall I show you something else pleasing I can do with my mouth?”

“You... you're not suggesting...”

He still had a hand in her knickers, an arm around her waist, her bared breasts pressed against his chest. He licked his lips and grinned wickedly at her.

“That would be scandalous,” she protested quietly. “It's outrageous.”

“Exciting, isn't it?”

“Someone could come.”

“I can promise that you will.”

She couldn't repress the quiet moan that rose in her throat. Maker, he was the sexiest man she'd ever had the pleasure to know.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, petting her a little with his fingers, just enough to stir her a bit.

She should tell him no, she should put her tits away and drop her skirt and go back inside. She'd certainly indulged in dalliances in darkened corners before, but never anything so reckless as what he was suggesting.

And yet, she had to admit, she was thrilled by the thought of it. If anyone did happen upon the alcove, there would be no way they could fail to know what was going on, and there would be no way to explain it or pretend they were doing anything other than engaging in infamous acts of passion in the garden while a diplomatic event went on near enough that they could still hear the music. Oh, yes, it was exciting. Excruciatingly so.

She nodded. He kissed her once and then dropped to his knees before her. The thought flashed into her mind that perhaps he'd worn his boots with the cuffs up for this very reason.

He tugged at her knickers, pulling them down to her knees before he tapped her leg so she'd lift it, and he pushed the black silk down and off of that slippered foot, leaving the underpants dangling around her opposite ankle. He nudged her thighs apart and she adjusted her stance, pulling her skirt up higher, and the next minute she was panting and biting her lip to keep from crying out as he put his hands on her arse to pull her closer and pressed his mouth to her hungrily. _Oh, Maker, yes, please_ , the combination of the situation and the stimulation and his quite delightful mouth and tongue was exquisitely, deeply erotic.

The climax came upon her suddenly, and she gasped for air and gurgled slightly trying to keep from making too much noise, dropping the skirt from one fist so that she could raise that hand to cover her own mouth to muffle the noises she was making, her legs trembling, wet warmth running down her inner thighs. He kept going until the tremors receded and then got to his feet, grinning at her.

He pulled away the hand she still held over her mouth and kissed her, letting her taste herself on his lips and tongue, his facial hair wet with her juices and rubbing against her chin.

He whispered, “How daring are you willing to be?”

She raised an eyebrow as he took her hand, kissed her palm, and then placed her hand on the bulge in his breeches. She gave a huff of pleasure and rubbed his very hard cock through the fabric of his breeches before she released the fabric of her skirt and used both hands to unlace his pants and free his erection, stroking him with her fingers, making him shudder.

“Shall I take you?” he asked in voice that was half growl and half whisper.

“What, you mean... here?”

“Of course. Turn around, face the wall, if you're willing,” he told her, and she somewhat reluctantly let go of his member so she could do that. “Brace yourself with your hands on the wall, spread your legs a bit, and lean forward.”

Oh, Maker, he was really going to... She felt the cool air and his fingers on her legs and then on her arse as he pulled her skirt up and moved close behind her, pressing up against her, and she struggled to keep from moaning out loud. She felt him probing, cock in hand, until he managed to get himself inside of her and she gasped, but bit her lip and forced herself to keep her voice still. He got hold of her hips with his hands and adjusted his position slightly and then started to move and Rowan could scarcely believe Nathaniel was actually fucking her standing up, from behind, in the royal garden during a diplomatic reception, where anyone could potentially catch them at it. It was almost unbearably exciting.

She arched her back, panting, trying hard to be quiet, but, Maker, it was difficult to keep her voice still as he rutted against her, inside of her, filling her up, stretching her, urging her on with his body, and she started to buck against him in rhythm as her pleasure grew.

“I love you,” he breathed and it pushed her pleasure over the edge, holding her breath, partly to keep herself quiet, and partly because she was starting to really enjoy the effect of being breathless in this situation. The intensity was maddening, dizzying, and very profoundly pleasurable. She was so swept away by the power of her own climax that she was only vaguely aware when his rhythm grew erratic and he gave a final, hard thrust, gripping her hips while pressing hard against her. As she caught her breath and came back to the present, back into awareness, she heard his quiet, satisfied sigh as he pulled away from her.

Rowan stood up straight and turned around to find him lacing up his breeches. He gave her a cocky smirk and reached up under her dress to get the underpants she still had around one ankle. “Other foot,” he said, and she raised it to let him get the knickers back on her on her legs. He was grinning as he got both hands under her skirt and neatly pulled her knickers back up, giving her a squeeze on the arse when he had.

“All your many times dressing me finally pays off,” she said with a smirk.

“Yes. There is method to my madness, after all. Hmm, better put those back,” he said, nodding toward her breasts.

“I think I'd better do that, myself. We won't get inside any time soon if you keep handling my tits, and we really should go back.” She carefully wrangled her flesh so as to tuck herself into the corset properly. “All right?” she asked.

“More than all right,” Nathaniel answered, and leaned in to give her a kiss. “Maker's mercy, Rowan, I love you so much. You are perfect. I wish you would marry me.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but smiled. “Honestly, my lord, a bit of a dalliance in a dark corner of a garden and you expect a betrothal?”

He smiled and picked up her goblet from the bench and handed it to her, before offering his arm. When Rowan and Nathaniel strolled back into the hall, Teagan spotted them and smiled knowingly. Fergus, who was standing with the bann, turned to see what Teagan was smiling at, and Nathaniel gave him a smirk and a cocky tilt of his head while he raised his eyebrows. Fergus rolled his eyes, shaking his head, before he turned back to the conversation with Teagan, who was grinning and looking at the floor, apparently trying not to laugh.

“So how many points was that, then?” Rowan asked with an impish smirk.

“I wasn't counting,” Nathaniel answered. “But Fergus and I were both right about one thing. You, my love, were no challenge at all.”

 


	52. Another Good Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is cuddling, breakfast, lunch, and conversation. 
> 
> Some sexual references, but nothing explicit.

The rest of the evening saw Rowan dancing with various partners, including the visiting prince, her brother again several times, Bann Teagan more than once, plus a number of other guests and noblemen who wanted a chance to say they once held the hand and touched the waist of the Hero of Ferelden.

Nathaniel, too, accepted invitations to dance from various ladies, as did Fergus, who was kept on the dance floor almost constantly. Nathaniel eventually got tired of the invitations and folded his arms over his chest and deliberately scowled, which had the desired effect of making the number of invitations dwindle to nothing. When Rowan was free, however, Nathaniel danced with her, and more than a few times. Looking fierce could have its advantages.

He also encouraged Fergus to dance with Rowan a few more times, thus giving the teyrn a break from his many would-be-wives. Nathaniel found that he very much enjoyed seeing Fergus and Rowan together, the last of the Couslands, enjoying themselves and talking about who knows what where they couldn't be overheard.

In between dances, Rowan and Nathaniel chatted with Fergus or with Teagan, who introduced them to various guests at the gathering. Through most of the mingling and chatting, Rowan had her hand tucked into Nathaniel's elbow, or he stood with his hand on her waist.

At some point during the evening when both Teagan and Anora were present, the topic of combat skill came up, and Rowan volunteered that Nathaniel was an excellent archer. Teagan then went on to suggest a demonstration, and this was seconded by Anora, effectively making it a command performance. Various members of the royal guard regularly practised in the training yards mid-afternoon, and Nathaniel found himself agreeing to turn up with his bow the following day.

Eventually, it got late enough that Rowan and Nathaniel could make their escape from the gathering, with the acknowledgement that they were to have dinner with Her Majesty again the day after next, and that Fergus would be present, as well as Prince Fredeoric.

Back in the suite, they let the dog out and then found that some servant had been in to tidy up and light a fire in the hearth. They undressed each other playfully, but while there was a little bit of groping and caressing as they went, neither was really interested in taking it very far. Rowan did remove her jewellery and she had Nathaniel help her take down her hair, but she didn't care about the makeup and crawled into bed without washing it off.

They slept curled up together the way they often did, Nate on his side facing her, Rowan with her bottom and back pressed up against his groin and chest, like a pair of perfectly matched spoons nestling in a comfortable drawer.

 

~*~

 

Nathaniel had taken it upon himself the day before to order breakfast for their suite. This was something Rowan was not that inclined to do because she felt like it was presumptuous, but Nathaniel had no such compunctions. They were guests of the Crown and she was the Arl of Amaranthine as well as the Warden-Commander and the Hero of Ferelden. It was entirely appropriate for her to order breakfast, so, as her trusted lieutenant, he had done so on her behalf.

Rowan stirred when he got out of bed at the sound of the knock at the door. She reached for him, but she hadn't fully awakened. He turned and looked at her as he pulled on the black and silver dressing gown she'd insisted he have and which he was willing to admit was a useful garment to own. Maker, she was beautiful when she was asleep. The makeup she had slept in was smeared and smudged, her hair was everywhere, and she was an adorable mess.

In her sleep, her face was so soft, her brow unfurrowed, her mouth relaxed, her body almost boneless. She looked almost childlike, sometimes, free of the burdens of command and the pain of her memories. But even in her sleep, she often found herself dealing with horrors, as all Grey Wardens did. She was so much more prone to nightmares than Nathaniel was, and not just of the darkspawn. She had nightmares about the massacre in her home, about the events of the Blight, about so many things that still haunted her, though she rarely spoke of those things. He smiled at her sleeping form and went to answer the door.

It was the breakfast he'd ordered, just as he'd expected. He smiled at the servant and ushered him in, sweeping and hand toward the table as he let Rowan's mabari out into the courtyard.

“Just put the trays down there,” Nathaniel said. “Thank you.”

The dog was inclined to remain outdoors and so Nathaniel shrugged and shut the door after the servant left, locking it. He made his way to the suite's privy, then washed his hands and face in the basin before he sat down on the bed, brushing stray, chestnut hair of out Rowan's face with his hand.

“Sweetheart,” he said softly, sliding his hand to her bare shoulder. “Breakfast.”

She made an unintelligible noise and he grinned.

“Come on, beautiful,” he insisted gently, “I need some company while I eat, and you're the best option now that I've let the dog out.”

She made a noise that was halfway between a giggle and a muffled snort, the corners of her mouth turning up as she opened one eye.

“Woof,” she said.

He smirked at her and got up from the bed. “You know where to find the food. And me,” he said, leaving her to tend her morning needs.

Maker, he felt good. He felt, for the first time ever, like _himself_ , like he was who he was supposed to be. Somewhat to his surprise, it seemed that embracing his inherent nobility suited him far better than shrinking from it, which he'd tried to do since he'd learned of his father's disgrace and his own loss of inheritance. For the first time since then, he was genuinely hopeful that he actually would be able manage to restore some honour to his family name, which was important to him, even if the family would never again hold lands or a title, or even have any more heirs with the name Howe. His life as a Grey Warden had drawbacks, but he didn't regret for a moment that he had become part of the order; he was doing some real good in the world, and that counted for something. And, of course, there was Rowan, and all of this was all because of that extraordinary woman.

He poured himself a cup of tea and smiled at her as she came out of the bedroom wrapped in her dressing gown. The makeup she'd slept in had been washed off and she'd run a comb through her hair, but she was still delightfully mussed.

“Good morning, love of my life,” he said in greeting, and she smiled at him as she sat down. He filled a mug with tea and dropped some honey in before he handed it to her.

“You were incredibly dashing last night,” she said. “You really could have been a courtier.”

“Ha. No. I've told you, I don't care for politics and I certainly don't care very much for the falseness and pretence of court. I can play the games and talk the talk and all of that, but I don't like it and wouldn't want to have to do it all the time, or even most of the time. Same as you, really.”

“I don't know, Nate. I think there must be something about being at court that agrees with you.”

“I admit I am pleased and surprised that I have been given the opportunity to restore at least some of the honour to my family name,” he admitted, “and I am very pleased to be known as the lover of the Hero of Ferelden, who also happens to be the most beautiful, most brilliant, most desirable woman in all of Thedas. I would be yet more pleased to be known as her husband, but I'll make do with lover. Sounds more romantic, anyway. A husband might be some wretched arranged thing where the participants in the marriage can't stand each other. A lover, on the other hand...” He winked at her.

“How many times did you propose to me last night? Two? Or was it three? I lost count.”

“I wasn't keeping score,” he answered with a smirk.

“The visiting prince, Freddy, he asked me to call him, asked about our non-married state when we were dancing. In fact, he asked all kinds of questions about you and I caught him watching you more than once as we were mingling and having boring conversations with random people,” she said as she scooped eggs onto her plate. “Can't say I blame him. You are quite attractive.”

“He's not my type,” Nathaniel answered with a shrug. “Do you suppose he'll be there today when I have to perform for the court?” he asked as he poured himself another cup of tea. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“I had no idea Teagan would seize on my comment or that Anora would press you to give a demonstration. But you don't really mind, do you?”

“No, not really,” he admitted with a shrug as he buttered a piece of toast. “We don't have anything else we need to be doing. And why didn't the queen ask you for a demonstration of your skill?”

Rowan grinned. “Oh, you think she never has? I've certainly put on performances, oh, sorry, given demonstrations of my skill for the entertainment and edification of the bored nobility and the monarch. I must have sparred with most of her elite guard by now, and with Teagan, as well as a handful of other nobles and knights and such. What's the bet she'll ask me to spar with you today? They've seen us dance, talk, eat, drink, and flirt, so it's time to see us fight, hmm?”

“Should I kiss you when I win?”

“When? _If_ ,” she retorted. “And seeing that you kissed me on the dance floor more than once and you strolled into the garden with me and came back looking like the cat that got the cream, I don't see why you shouldn't. We're not exactly discreet about those things, are we?”

“Speaking of which, I assume the gentleman with whom you visited the garden previously was Teagan?”

“Of course it was,” she answered as she poured more tea into her cup.

“Just one question, then. Did I surpass whatever you and he got up to?”

She looked at him in surprise and then burst out laughing. “Maker's foreskin, Nate, are you still on about that?” She giggled a bit more, and he felt a rush of warmth. Her laughter pleased him, but her giggle made his heart glad.

“Hmmm,” she said. “Allow me to say that what you and I got up to will certainly remain delightfully vivid in my memory, probably for the rest of my life. It was beyond scandalous and very, very exciting.”

He gave her a little grin. “I will admit, that kind of risk taking is something I very much enjoy. And there are lots of places around Vigil's Keep that are good for that sort of thing.”

“Perhaps you should show me some of these locations when we get back.”

“As you like, my lady,” he answered with a smirk.

They finished their breakfast and Nathaniel took out the plaits in his hair and then had a shave. Rowan was lying on the bed watching him, her expression soft, and he saw her little smile when he carefully guided the blade around his chin. He still wore that patch of dark hair below his lip, despite having taken it up because his father wore just such a thing and despite Rowan's teasing. He suspected she had grown to like it, though he wasn't sure if she would admit it.

He turned his face this way and that and watched his reflection in the shaving mirror to check his work and thought, not for the first time, how much he looked like his father, though, mercifully, Nathaniel's brow was less prominent and his own nose was more refined, being neither as crooked nor as wide. It was a Howe nose, no mistake, but Nathaniel thought, perhaps a bit vainly, that it looked better on him than it had on his father or on his brother.

“Yes, I see you with your mirror, and yes, you're very handsome,” Rowan teased, “Though you still missed a spot.”

“The nose doesn't bother you?” he asked, putting the shaving mirror aside and coming over to the bed.

“I quite like a man with a strong profile,” she said, lying back against the pillows. Her dressing gown gaped open and Nathaniel got on the bed and lay down beside her, reaching for her face with one hand, gently turning her head toward him.

He rubbed his nose against hers affectionately, then tilted his head to press his lips to hers. “We have some time before we need to be dressed,” he said, kissing her again. “I have some ideas on how to pass it.”

“Oh, do you? I'd be delighted to take suggestions from my trusted lieutenant,” she answered as she turned her body to him and slipped her hand into his dressing gown to caress his chest and run her fingers through the abundant hair there.

He was glad that it pleased her. He was glad that his nose pleased her, that his body pleased her. He was glad and grateful that _he_ pleased her, because she most definitely pleased him, more than he would ever have imagined anyone could do.

“I love you so much,” he whispered against her mouth.

“Show me,” she answered.

And so he did.

~*~

 

Rowan and Nathaniel took their midday meal in the main dining hall with Sigrun, Jack, and Evon. Sigrun and Evon asked about the previous night's events, who they met, what they did. Rowan gave a retelling of the evening, leaving out the details of her interlude in the garden with Nathaniel. She spoke of her brother, of the Nevarran prince who went by Freddy, of Nathaniel dancing with Anora in front of the entire court. Sigrun was impressed, but didn't understand the full social implication. Evon and Jack, however, certainly did.

“You danced with the queen? The actual Queen of Ferelden?” Evon asked, wide-eyed. “Is she a good dancer?”

Nathaniel smirked. “Of course.”

“And you held her hand and put your hands on her waist and everything?” the soldier wanted to know.

“Yes, that's what the dance demands. I didn't dip her or kiss her or try any other funny business, if that's what you're asking.” Rowan could see that Nathaniel was joking, but Evon raised both hands apologetically.

“No, ser, I didn't mean to imply anything like that,” the soldier answered slightly nervously. “It's just... the queen...”

“Evon,” Rowan said, “in about an hour, we'll be in the training yards. I'm sure Her Majesty will be there in the observation stands on the west end. If you turn up, you can see her with your own eyes, and right up close. That goes for you, too, Sigrun, and you, Jack, if you're interested. And if you like, you can try your hand sparring with various members of the castle guard and soldiers. It can be interesting.”

“Oh, I've been,” Jack said. “Not when the queen was there. But I learned about the daily practice sessions early on and have gone a few times. You're right, it is interesting.”

“Well, then,” Nathaniel said, “you can lead the others. Unless any of you have somewhere else you'd rather be? This isn't mandatory or anything.”

“Uh, no, I don't have any plans,” Jack answered with a bit of a grin. “At least, not until dinner time.”

“Well, all right, if you like, turn up to the training session for moral support. Spar or not, as you like. So,” Rowan said, changing the subject, “we know a bit about how Jack's been spending his time, but what have you been up to, Sigrun?”

“Evon and I have been exploring Denerim. It's big! So much to do here! Oh, and I went back to settle a couple of details about the orders with the merchants,” Sigrun said. “I happened to be there when the messenger came and I didn't want to bother you and Nate with it, so I just got Evon and we went on our own. ”

“Well, I do trust you to handle the details,” Rowan said, and Sigrun beamed, “but why didn't you want to bother us?”

“Oh, you're just... uh... _occupied_ a lot of the time,” Sigrun said, blushing slightly under her heavy facial tattoos.

“Occupied?” Rowan echoed.

“Yeah, you and Nate are spending a lot of time alone and we never know if you're in your suite or not and when you are in your suite we think it's probably best not to intrude, and when you're not in your suite, well, we don't know where you are, do we?”

Rowan raised an eyebrow.

“Pardon me, ser,” Evon put in, “but it seems a bit like you're on a honeymoon, if you don't mind my saying.” He immediately flushed deep pink.

“Maker's mercy,” Nathaniel said dryly, “a honeymoon at the palace in Denerim, playing at social politics and performing for the royal court.” He shook his head and looked at Rowan with a bemused smirk. “When we do get married, let's go somewhere more interesting and less demanding, all right?”

“When? _If,_ ” she retorted.

He smirked and blew her a kiss, and then went back to his meal with a smile.

 


	53. Demonstrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel demonstrates his skill for the court.

Nathaniel sighted the target and nocked his arrow, then drew his bowstring and sent the arrow across the field to land very solidly near the centre of the target, close to the last four arrows he'd loosed. A bit of a murmur went up from the viewing stand high at the end of the field. He didn't look up, though he knew the queen was there with her personal bodyguards, along with a fair number of courtiers, banns, and other nobles, the visiting Nevarran Prince Fredeoric, a couple of minstrels who would undoubtedly turn whatever they saw into a ballad or a story, Sigrun, and the two soldiers from Vigil's Keep. Quite the audience for an afternoon training session. Nathaniel could only imagine how Evon managed to sit in the same area as the queen without soiling himself or falling down in a faint.

Nathaniel had competed in a good many tournaments and he wasn't bothered that he had an audience. Rowan was on the field, working with a training dummy, as were a number of other knights and soldiers of the palace. A few were sparring. This was, after all, a practice field, and not a tournament or showground, despite the occasionally noisy onlookers.

He nocked another arrow and when he loosed it, it hit the centre of the target almost perfectly, right in the midst of the cluster of arrows he'd already put into the target. He couldn't help but feel pleased with that, especially since he was drawing from at least ten paces behind the usual target line.

“Impressive,” said a congenial male voice behind him. It was Teagan. Nathaniel would know that charming bastard's voice anywhere.

Nathaniel turned and squinted at the bann, shielding his eyes from the bright sun.

“Here to get in some practice?” Nathaniel asked, nodding to the bann's armour and shield, his helmet in his sword hand.

“In a manner of speaking. Her Majesty has a request of us both.”

“Let me guess,” Nathaniel said, keeping his expression schooled and impassive. “She wants me to spar with you.”

“Errr... yes,” Teagan answered.

“I take it we're we supposed to be rivals?” Nathaniel asked.

“Something like that, yes,” Teagan agreed with a smile. “At least according to certain gossip.”

“And you're thought to be envious of me and I'm seen to be jealous of you and now we have to settle our supposed differences on the field of combat for the entertainment of the court.”

Teagan laughed. “Very well said. You do have quite the clever tongue.”

“So I am told,” Nathaniel answered, his meaning double edged. Teagan's smirk and raised eyebrow let him know it had not been missed.

“Well, you know how gossip goes,” Teagan said with a shrug. “The stories told about you and the Hero of Ferelden are already quite romantic, and it is obvious to anyone who sees you and Rowan together that the two of you are very much in passionate accord. I'm sure there are a great many who are envious of that kind of love match.”

“Is that a confession, my lord?” Nathaniel asked lightly.

“I will neither confirm nor deny any envy on my part.”

Nathaniel snorted. “Spoken like a true politician.”

Teagan chuckled. “So, shall we spar? For, as you note, the entertainment of the court, and perhaps for our own amusement.”

“Think you can win?” Nathaniel asked with a raised eyebrow and a cocky smirk. “I reckon you're more about the politics and the diplomacy these days than you are about the battlefield.”

“Quite true,” Teagan admitted with a grin. “And I am not the greatest warrior on the field, though I can usually hold my own.”

“Against a dual-wielding rogue?”

“Even so, at least some of the time. I have sparred with the Hero of Ferelden, you know.”

“But not for some time.”

“Are we talking about fighting or something else now?” the bann asked with a sly grin.

“What else could we be talking about?” Nathaniel returned with a smirk.

“Your wit is remarkably similar to hers. Do your combat skills match hers, as well?”

“She and I are well-matched in all things,” Nathaniel answered, maybe a little smugly. But since he was being smug, anyway, he decided to take it a step further with some traditional competitive bragging. “I am younger than you are and I'm a Grey Warden, with all the attending stamina and strength of one. You might manage to get in a few strikes, but I will certainly take you down. If you don't mind being beaten soundly, I'll get one of my men to hold my bow and I'll get some blunted daggers from the equipment shed and meet you on the field.”

“Very well, then,” the bann said amiably. “I shall select an appropriate practice sword.”

Nathaniel considered the situation as he casually walked to the archery target and retrieved his arrows. Anora's understanding of social manoeuvring and positioning, matched and possibly outshone many an Orlesian. She was far more skilled at politics than most, including the majority of the nobles of the Free Marches, with their constant jockeying for position not only in their own realm, but between the different states, all vying for power and elevated status.

As far as the gossip went, a fight where the Hero of Ferelden's new lover fought her rumoured old one could have considerable interest, even if it was only sparring. Perhaps it was just titillation for the sake of the court's amusement and the bard's tales. Or maybe it was a message, something like, _the Hero of Ferelden is in good hands._ Some combination of those things, probably, and possibly other messages and signs and signals and hidden meanings of which Nathaniel was not aware. It was for show, that much was clear, and Anora knew better than Nathaniel the messages it would convey and the interest it would generate. She also had to know Nathaniel was going to win.

Nathaniel turned and walked toward the viewing stand, waving Evon to the field. The only way to the seats in that viewing area was from the second floor of the palace, and Nathaniel didn't want to traipse inside and up the stairs. That's what men at arms and subordinates were for.

“Ser?” Evon asked when he arrived, slightly breathless from having apparently run down the stairs and out to the field and brushing his brown hair out of his eyes.

“Evon, take my bow and my quiver for me, please. And be careful with the bow, it's a family heirloom.”

“Yes, ser,” the soldier answered smartly. “I'll take good care of it, ser.”

Nathaniel nodded and patted the solder on the shoulder with a leather gauntleted hand and crossed the yard to the equipment shed with long, easy strides. He found a pair of daggers that had acceptable weight and balance and checked that the edges were truly blunted, not because he thought there would be sharpened blades in the royal shed, but because it was a simple safety precaution he always observed. Satisfied with his choice of weapons, Nathaniel stepped back into the yard and looked around for Teagan.

And, of course, the bann was standing with Rowan by the practice dummies, and of course, she was laughing. Nathaniel scowled. He had told Rowan he wasn't jealous and he didn't believe that he was, but Teagan's familiarity was starting to get on his nerves. It didn't help that Rowan quite clearly enjoyed both Teagan's company and his ridiculous flattery.

Nathaniel approached the two of them quietly, moving near the walls so as not to attract attention, but taking care not to look like he was sneaking. Getting the jump on Teagan would be easy. Avoiding Rowan would not, however, so his best chance was to catch her eye and signal her to keep quiet and not give him away.

And, just as he knew would happen, she spotted him. He stopped and quickly shook his head and raised his hand to his face, the practice dagger still clutched in it, his index finger held in front of his lips in a shushing motion. She immediately looked back at Teagan and gave him a brilliant smile and engaged him in conversation again. Nathaniel smirked, absurdly pleased that Rowan was willing to act as a distraction for him when she easily could have said something to Teagan.

Teagan had put down his shield, resting it on the ground and leaning it against his armoured leg. Under one arm was his helmet, and he had a hand resting on the hilt of the practice sword he was planning to use, the tip resting on the ground between his feet as he chatted with Rowan, probably telling her how beautiful she looked when she was armed and covered in sweat and leather.

Quickly and very quietly, Nathaniel walked up behind Teagan, kicked the shield away, and simultaneously put one dagger to the bann's throat and the other up through a vulnerable spot in the armour so the blunted tip was pointed at Teagan's armpit.

“I win,” Nathaniel announced, trying not to sound smug, but failing utterly.

Teagan raised both hands, laughing, and the sword fell to the ground.

“So you do,” the bann said, and Nathaniel lowered the blades and stepped back immediately. “Best two out of three, then?” Teagan asked as he bent to retrieve the sword and then the shield.

“As you like,” Nathaniel answered. “We should move to the middle of the field, so that our audience can get a good eyeful, yes? But speaking of our audience...”

Nathaniel stepped toward Rowan with a smile and leaned in for a kiss, which she quite happily gave him. Maker, but she really was beautiful when she was armed and covered in sweat and leather. If they were at Vigil's Keep, he would offer to take her to the hot spring bath when they'd finished on the field. Perhaps he would order a hot bath for their suite. Or... He smiled as an idea occurred to him, one she had resisted, but he would persuade her. He stepped back and winked at her and then followed Teagan.

The two men faced off, Nathaniel light on his feet, daggers at the ready, Teagan with his shield and sword and armour, slower moving, but with a long reach from the sword and the blocking and bashing ability of the shield.

Nathaniel made a few feints with his daggers, testing his opponent's speed and reflexes. Teagan was much more keen than Nathaniel would have imagined, blocking very effectively with both sword and shield. Nathaniel took care to keep well back from both as he looked for an opportunity to flank the bann and score a hit or two. Seeing what looked like an opening, he darted to Teagan's side, and was mildly surprised at the speed with which Teagan swung out his shield to try to bash him, only just barely missing knocking Nathaniel into the dirt.

Nathaniel balanced his weight on the balls of his feet, knees flexed, and waited for Teagan to swing his sword, which he dodged, simultaneously darting behind Teagan and giving him a whack with his dagger, a move that, had it been made in earnest as an attack, would have stabbed up under the armour into the back of Teagan's shoulder and possibly forced him to drop his sword. It was a good hit.

Teagan spun with surprising speed, and staggered Nathaniel somewhat with a firm but controlled shield hit that was probably going to leave a black and blue bruise all down Nathaniel's arm. Again, since they were sparring and not really fighting, Teagan had not put real force into the blow, but if he had, it probably would have thrown Nathaniel on his arse and put him at a genuine disadvantage.

Nathaniel moved back, watching Teagan's moves carefully, and found him fairly easy to predict. Nathaniel acted and reacted accordingly, scoring three more dagger blows in fairly short order, and managing to avoid Teagan's sword and his shield just by being quick and paying attention. Nathaniel darted to Teagan's right flank and raised a foot to give a hard shove to the back of the knee and throw him off balance, and, somewhat to Nathaniel's surprise, it worked, probably because Teagan had already been turning and his weight was unevenly distributed. The bann staggered and crashed to one knee and Nathaniel was upon him, dagger to the throat.

“Yield!” he demanded, loudly enough for the crowd to hear him clearly.

“I do so yield!” Teagan answered, just as loudly.

Nathaniel took both daggers into his left hand and offered his right to Teagan, pulling him to his feet.

“I trust that did the trick?” Nathaniel said quietly. “Our real or imagined differences are now settled?”

“Yes, I expect so,” Teagan answered with a grin, and made a point of visibly clapping Nathaniel on the shoulder.

“I saw Teagan bash you with the shield,” Rowan said to Nathaniel as she trotted up to him. “He's knocked me on my arse a few times that way. Turned my shoulder and most of my arm black and purple that way once, and I had bruise on the hip I fell on. How are you?”

“Oh, I'll have bruises on this arm, for sure,” he said, flexing it. “Might have to sleep on my other side for a while.”

“Oh, I'll spoon you for a change, then, will I?”

Teagan smirked and shook his head. “Your brother is right, my Lady Cousland. You and your lover are quite sickeningly adorable in your utter disregard as to who might be watching or listening when you engage in intimate discussion or displays of affection.”

“Yes,” Rowan agreed. “I lost any self-conscious modesty I may have had when I was living in a travelling camp for the better part of a year. Bathing in streams, sleeping in tents, answering the call of nature in the bushes. I still do those things, in fact, and so does Nathaniel. Since the Blight, I no longer care who sees what or what they think of my personal habits. Careful discretion was always more your style than mine, Teagan.”

“Indeed,” Teagan agreed. “Although, had things been different...”

“I know,” she said, her voice soft. “But they aren't.”

Nathaniel watched the exchange in silence, his face impassive. He knew by things she'd told him and by the way she acted that she would have been happy to stay with Teagan, but for the duties which kept them apart, and her own inability to give him an heir. There was real regret there, and for the first time, Nathaniel really saw it, particularly on Teagan's part.

Suddenly, his irritation with Teagan seemed very petty, and Nathaniel felt rather ashamed of himself. Not as much as he'd been when he realised that everything Rowan had said of his father was the truth, but still, he felt he should be a better man. Teagan had always been kind to Rowan, supportive of her in whatever ways she would allow, and it was unmistakably clear that Teagan sincerely cared for her. He continued to flirt with her because she liked it, and if she told him to stop, Nathaniel had no doubt that Teagan would do so. Teagan would probably do so if Nathaniel asked him to, or at least, he would tone it down.

Nathaniel had Rowan now, well and truly. Everyone knew it, including Teagan, Fergus, the monarch of the very nation, and now, all of the minstrels who were present at court, along with many members of the bannorn and a number of visiting foreign dignitaries and notables. He, Nathaniel Howe, heir to a disgraced and dispossessed house, held this extraordinary woman who was regarded as something of a national treasure, and he was being quite ungracious about that position of privilege. Nathaniel fought the urge to sigh at his own arrogance and foolishness. He had argued that he was no fool, and he wasn't, but, Maker's mercy, he certainly could play at it when his stubborn pride got in the way.

When the three of them had stood in silence for what he felt was long enough, Nathaniel nudged Rowan with his elbow.

“Do you care to spar with me? You'll have an advantage, because I'm already mildly injured. We've both been hammered by the bann now.”

Teagan sputtered an embarrassed laugh and Rowan gasped before she burst out giggling, a sound that made Teagan raise both eyebrows in surprise, his mouth opening to form a softly rounded O. Nathaniel guessed that Teagan had never before heard Rowan giggle.

“The court will love seeing you two spar, I'm sure,” Teagan commented. “Nathaniel, you were quite right. I am more for diplomacy and paperwork and politics these days. I'm afraid I've gone a bit soft. I should get to the training field more often. I believe I'll put this sword away and go and find some elfroot tea and possibly a hot bath. I'll see you both again soon, I'm sure.”

The bann made his way to the equipment shed, limping very slightly as he did, making Nathaniel wonder if Teagan was really injured or if he was playing it up for the sake of the gossip. Nathaniel still felt the burn of his personal shame and he wondered if there was some way to apologise, but he really hadn't done anything untoward or improper where Teagan was concerned, so for what would he apologise? _I'm sorry I was annoyed by how charming you are? I'm sorry I was irritated that you and my lover are good friends? I'm sorry that you can't be with the woman that I, and possibly you, love?_

Nathaniel let it go and turned his attention back to Rowan.

“Winner decides how to spend the rest of the day and the evening, all right?” he suggested.

Rowan snorted. “Not much of a bet. It'll end up the same no matter who wins.”

“Not necessarily,” Nathaniel answered with a cocky tilt of his head and his most charming smirk. “I have some thoughts on the matter, and I intend to win.”

“Yes, all right. And I'll try to go easy on you, since you're injured.”

“Mmm, sure you will,” he returned. “Come on, then, hero, let's see what you can do.”

He did win, in the end, but it took five matches to accomplish it. First it was best of three, then of five, and he only barely got her to concede that last one, probably because she was getting quite sweaty and possibly a little bored with sparring, and maybe because she did want to find out what he had in mind that made him willing to keep going just to win. He was competitive, but normally not that determined. Now, however, he had her promise that she'd go along with his plans, and that pleased him. He claimed a victor's kiss from her and they went to return the equipment they'd used.

As they left the field, they could hear the courtiers all abuzz, chattering excitedly and murmuring. Nathaniel Howe had just bested the Hero of Ferelden in combat, even if it did take some effort. Nathaniel frowned as he worked through the slightly sickening realisation that he had just demonstrated to the court, yet again, that he was not his father. His father had fallen to the Hero of Ferelden the first and only time they had met in combat. Nathaniel, on the other hand, could easily go toe-to-toe with her, and while he didn't always win, he was more than capable of doing so.

He was her equal. As he had said to Teagan, well-matched in all things.

 


	54. What Happens in Denerim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel and Rowan once again engage in intimate, rambling conversation of a sexual nature. 
> 
> Not particularly NSFW, but does include frank discussion of sexuality and related topics.

“I could do with a bath,” Rowan said as they approached the suite.

“We can arrange that. And more. For now,” Nathaniel said as he opened the door and stood aside so the mabari could go out, “I want you to pack us a bag, just light, for overnight. I recommend both of our dressing gowns, my shaving kit... that should probably do it, actually. We can have the clothes we're wearing washed overnight.”

“Where are we going?” she wanted to know.

“Denerim,” he grinned. “I'm going to buy myself some perfume for one thing. And you, if we find something we both like.”

“Perfume? What are you talking about?”

“Just do what I ask, all right? I'm going to see if anyone is around to keep an eye on the dog. I don't want to bring him, but he'll be lonely overnight if he's left outside, and he'll be unhappy overnight if he's left inside. You pack. I'll be right back.”

She watched him leave and then grabbed a pack and threw in the things he'd asked for and went to the sitting room to wait for him.

“Sigrun's just come back to her room, and she's going to take Ser Barkley for the evening. I asked him if he minded, and he seemed to be all right. He likes Sigrun. She's not that much taller than he is, so he can look her in the eye. Ready?”

“I... yes, I suppose so.” Rowan was always a little surprised by how well her faithful, bonded mabari took to Nathaniel. Mabaris were shockingly intelligent dogs, though, so probably he observed them together enough to decide that Nathaniel was an ally. There was no way the dog had missed that Rowan willingly invited Nathaniel into her bed or that they often shared food, so that probably helped. If there were two things dogs definitely understood, it would be eating and sleeping in a comfy pile.

“Did you let me win so you could find out what I had planned?” Nathaniel asked her as he shut the door behind them.

“No,” Rowan answered honestly. “I never... I can't just let someone win. I'm too competitive. Best I can do is... try less hard to win.”

He grinned at her. “That's what I thought, but I wanted to be sure. And I know exactly what you mean about winning.”

It was mid-afternoon when they left the palace, and they walked through Denerim hand in hand, Nathaniel leading the way.

“The perfumer may well be shut by the time we get there,” he said thoughtfully. “We'll go in the morning on our way back.”

“Our way back from where?”

“From where we're going to spend the night.”

“And where is that?”

He chuckled. “You'll see when we get there.”

Rowan glanced around and then considered where they'd been told the perfumer was. “You're not taking me to Madame Furline's, I take it.”

“No. She doesn't offer accommodation as far as I'm aware. Strictly a merchant.”

Rowan suddenly gasped as she realised. “That brothel, just up the street from Madame's shop.”

“Yes. And before you protest, you did say you'd consider it, so it shouldn't be a complete shock. The establishment is called The Velvet Purse, by the way.”

“Oh, my. Really? Oh, well, no worse than The Pearl, I suppose.”

“There's a brothel in Kirkwall called The Blooming Rose,” Nathaniel told her. “There used to be one in Amaranthine called The Hornpipe, but I don't know if it's still there after everything that's happened. And in Highever, there was one called The Juicy Peach.” At her incredulous look, he added, “Would I make up a name like that?”

She was quiet for a time as they walked. “I'm just wondering... uhm... what you have in mind,” she said eventually.

“What I have in mind is the two of us in a room with lots of mirrors in it and a great big bed in the middle of them all.”

“Mirrors, hmm? You mentioned that before. I know I said I didn't want to know, but I think I do now. How do you know that particular brothel has a room full of mirrors?”

“I never made use of the mirrored room, if that's what you're asking. I know about it because they have a menu, of sorts, listing their services and amenities.”

“So you've made use of their services in the past,” she said evenly. “And when you visited, did you employ the... skilled craftspeople?” Sanga, proprietor of The Pearl, had referred to her own staff as skilled craftspeople, which Rowan had found amusing at the time, but these days, after having spent intimate time with Teagan and then with Nathaniel, she thought there might be something to that description.

“Of course.”

“Why? You could probably have had any woman upon whom you set your seductive desire.”

He grinned and gave her hand a squeeze. “I know you can't resist me, but I have to tell you, plenty of women have turned down my propositions and invitations. But the fact is, there are things for which you just want to hire a professional. Some things are... Let's say they have specialists on staff. Craftspeople, as you say. I, being young and randy and having more time and money than good sense, wanted to try a few things I was not likely to get any other way.”

“Such as?”

He groaned. “Maker, Rowan, do you really want to know the specifics? Think hard before you ask me things like that. I'm not particularly proud of my past, as I've said, but neither am I ashamed or even especially embarrassed. You know I'll always tell you the truth. For your own sake, you should really consider if you want to know the details of things I did in a brothel in Denerim more than ten years ago.”

She was thoughtfully quiet for a few moments. “You're right, I don't really want or need to know. Question retracted.”

“Good,” he answered, and she squeezed his hand. After a little while he said, “There was a book that your family had in the library, _The Art of Passionate Love_ by Brother Capria. Fergus and I read that book from cover to cover. That book is where I got the ideas for which I hired professionals, and plenty of other ideas, as well. Did you ever read it? I would be very surprised if you had not.”

“I... Yes, I have,” she admitted. “I used to sneak looks at it as a child when I could. When I got older, I was a lot craftier and could usually get around Brother Aldus to have a very good look, indeed. I managed to bring the book to my room once, even, with...” She couldn't say his name aloud. Her relationship with Rory was not something she was ever comfortable talking about, even with Nathaniel. He knew it had happened, and how it ended, and that was enough. “I will admit, I learned a great deal from that book, though I'm not sure I understood all of the subtleties or implications at the time. It's a shame it was lost. I'd be pleased to read it again with you, now that I have a bit more actual experience and knowledge. Copies of that book are quite rare, though, I'm told, what, with the book being banned by the Chantry and all.”

“Hmm,” he responded, but said no more.

They walked in companionable silence for a while, still hand in hand, along the streets of Denerim, quite happily anonymous. They were both armed, however, and a few people shot wary looks their direction as they passed.

“May I ask you something else?” Rowan asked after a while.

“Always.”

“Did you and my brother ever...”

“Ever... what?” he answered with a teasing tone.

“Did you ever go to bed together.”

“Yes, but I think you should be more specific.”

“Wait, you... I'm sorry? What?”

He chuckled. “If you've read Brother Capria's book, you must be aware that there can be more than two people in bed together.”

“Of course I am aware.”

“Well, there you go.”

“I'm sorry, but I think _you_ need to be more specific.”

“All right. I believe that what you're specifically asking is if Fergus and I were lovers, and the answer to that is a very definite no. We never fancied each other that way, and he's entirely uninterested in men, sexually. We never even kissed, except once as a joke, and we were pretty drunk. Oh, and I did once undress him for a... Doesn't matter. We were drunk that time, too, and there was still no gropey feely or anything. We slept in the same bed more than a few times, without any sex play of any sort, and there were occasions when he and I were both engaged in sexual acts in the same bed, but our focus and interest was not each other, which is where the reference to more than two people in the bed comes in. Is that answer specific enough? Or do you want more details?”

“No! No, I do not. Thoughts of my brother in... No. And I... Maker, I see now why you cautioned me to be careful what I asked,” she said heatedly, and she could feel her face flushing hot and probably red. “But I am glad to know you and my brother were not... That you didn't... If you had, that would be... kind of creepy.”

“Well, now that you mention it,” Nathaniel said thoughtfully and with a perfectly straight face, “you two do look quite a lot alike. Perhaps that's what first attracted me to you.”

“You... Oh, you're joking. Of course you are,” she sighed, and he grinned and squeezed her hand. After a few moments she asked, “What did first attract you to me, then, since it probably wasn't my resemblance to Fergus?”

“I watched you in battle from my archer's vantage point, and the way you moved was... _is_ very appealing. So strong and light on your feet, quick, flexible. Entrancing. And when you weren't in battle, when you were just walking, leading from the front as you do, I couldn't help but watch you. Of course, I intended to hate you, or at least to be angry with you, which I stubbornly did until I finally got over myself, but as angry as I insisted on being, I still noticed those hips and the way you move them, and how you roll your shoulders when you're doing a double strike and the way you arch your back and stretch when you take off your armour, which you sometimes did in front of the fire at camp... So many things. I admit, I didn't fully appreciate your character at first, but I definitely appreciated your arse.”

“Well, that was mutual,” she told him. “I wish I'd known you fancied me. I might have just backed you into a corner and gotten my hand in your breeches and we could have saved a lot of time and trouble.”

He grinned. “You know that would not have worked out well.”

“Why not? Are you saying you wouldn't have let me put my hand in your breeches? Oh, I'll bet you would have. And angry sex can be amazing.”

“Oh, you like that, do you?”

“Yes,” she answered in a tone that told him not to pursue it. The only lover she'd been that cross with was Alistair on a few occasions, and when they'd ended up in an angry clinch, it had very quickly turned to rather spectacular, driving passion. Her mind wandered to what might have happened after the Landsmeet if he had accepted her decision and agreed to stay, even as angry as he was, but she shut down that line of thought and put her focus on Nathaniel's hand in hers.

“Well, then,” he said, “next time we butt heads with each other, instead of trying to reason it out, I'll do my best to make you furious, and then just fuck some sense into you, hmm?”

Rowan actually groaned softly as a flare of desire blossomed in her belly. “That's a good plan. Let's go with that, then.”

Nathaniel chuckled and squeezed her hand. “Noted.”

“What do you think it would have been like if we had gotten together when we were still so at odds?”

“Rough and dirty, I would imagine. I don't think I would have been very gentle, though I wouldn't have intentionally done anything to actually hurt you, and I would have still done my best to really _make_ you come, not for your pleasure so much as for having that power over you.”

“That sounds... really hot, actually.”

“Does it?” he asked in husky voice, raising one eyebrow. “Perhaps we'll explore that some time. You are pretty tough. I think you might well enjoy a bit of rough play, and I wouldn't worry about your ability to play hard. The way we spar sometimes borders on it, as it is. I will definitely keep it in mind. In fact, I don't think I can get it out of my mind, now that I've imagined it.”

They walked in companionable silence for a while, hand in hand. It was quite the conversation they were having while strolling the streets of Denerim, but considering their destination, it seemed appropriate. Verbal foreplay, as it were. And talking endlessly about everything and nothing was a favourite pastime in any case. It was hard to remember sometimes, but they hadn't really known each other all that long, nor had they been lovers for very long. Getting to know each other was still very much in order.

“So...” she began, almost tentatively, “something you said made me wonder. Do you fancy men...?”

“Not really. I have been with men a few times, but it's not my preference at all.”

“I see. May I ask... uhm, if it's not your preference, why...?”

He shrugged. “To find out what it was like. Because it seemed like fun at the time. Because I liked someone and was enjoying his company and things just progressed that way and I went with it. To make sure I wasn't limiting myself. All those things, and probably a few more. It turns out that it's just not something I desire. I didn't _mind_ it. There are aspects that appeal to me, things that I enjoyed, but my desire, my hunger, was and is always for women. It's really as simple as that. And now would be the time when I ask you if you've been with a woman, but I know you haven't, so I will instead ask you if you've ever been tempted by a woman.”

She laughed. “Yes, of course. Leliana was... very tempting at times.” She'd mentioned the redheaded bard to him before, one of her companions during the Blight. “We were close, and she was sweet and sometimes she would sing me to sleep. It was lovely. She was lovely. I knew that she enjoyed the intimate company of women, and I did think about it sometimes. There were a few times I was quite tempted to kiss her, in fact, but I never did. She's one of the dearest friends I've ever had, but I was worried that if I indulged my... curiosity, I might hurt her in the long run. And, of course, there was Alistair, who I loved, and I don't think Alistair would have taken too well to me being intimate with Leliana, even if he did think she was sexy. He could be quite jealous, and he was always very insecure.”

“Should have just invited him to join the two of you,” Nathaniel suggested cheekily.

Rowan snorted. “That did not occur to me, I assure you. Though, now that I consider it, I'm sure I could have talked him into that,” Rowan admitted. For a Chantry boy, Alistair was decidedly adventuresome once he got warmed up. “But even if I had thought of it, it still probably would have ended in tears, and that is something I never wanted.”

“Here we are,” Nathaniel said, and he turned to kiss her outside the rather grand oak door that was trimmed in polished brass.

“I can't believe you're taking me to a brothel,” Rowan said, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“Oh, I'm going to corrupt you, you know,” he told her with a smirk. “You have a dark side, my love, and I'm going to make it my life's mission to show you the pleasure of indulging it. Shall we?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that "purse" is a somewhat antiquated English euphemism for ladybits (ooh, another euphemism, but a quite modern one, surprisingly), hence the name of the establishment. 
> 
> I will also note that "rose" and "peach" are euphemisms for the same part of a woman, and "pearl" is a euphemism for a rather specific part of a woman's anatomy (as I have used it throughout this fic). The "hornpipe" reference refers to a kind of dance, so it's an antiquated euphemism similar to "horizontal mambo". 
> 
> Yes, I know a lot about historical euphemisms for sex and reproductive organs. Everybody's got to have a hobby. ;) (And history really is my academic specialty; my fondness for vulgarity and euphemism is just a sideline, though.) It seems that someone at BioWare is, too, though, hence the "pearl" and "rose" references. (I made up the names for the other two brothels Nathaniel mentions, though "Juicy Peach" was inspired by something Sera says in DA:I to Blackwall, offering to give him a demonstration of technique.)


	55. The Velvet Purse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan and Nathaniel visit the establishment known as The Velvet Purse.
> 
> Mature subject matter, nothing terribly graphic (bit of fondling and some nudity).

Nathaniel opened the door for Rowan, she walked through, and he came up next to her very quickly, putting a hand on her waist territorially.

The room they stepped into was large and very tastefully furnished. The walls were panelled with polished wood, and there was an ornate bar with fancy bar stools. There were a number of tables, and some patrons were gambling at a larger, rectangular table, probably playing Wicked Grace. Two more were drinking together and having some earnest but quiet discussion. A quite grand staircase led up to the next floor, and there was a rather cosy corner with upholstered furniture and an impressive carpet with patterns of birds, flowers, and fruit. The room gave little indication of the nature of the business, although there were armed guards stationed discreetly around the room. The prostitutes were in another, more private area, as was the case with The Pearl and most brothels of any standing; it was only the cheapest, most tawdry whorehouses that put the goods in display. A place like this offered far more than just carnal delights, so if that was what you you were after, you had to ask.

“Good afternoon,” said the elegantly attired woman who walked up to them. “Welcome to The Velvet Purse. I am Sythia. How may we serve you?”

She was probably in her middle thirties, with hair that was dyed an exotic shade of red and piled up on her head in a mountain of carefully formed curls. She was heavily but skilfully made up, and she smelled pleasantly of roses and violets. The woman looked at Nathaniel and then at Rowan and then back to Nathaniel.

“The room with the mirrors,” he said. “You still have that, I assume?”

Sythia smiled and tilted her head. The expression was practised, cool, unwavering, and entirely impersonal. “Yes, of course, and it is unoccupied. I assume you have been here before, my lord? What other services were you interested in?”

“We'll want the room overnight, to leave mid-morning,” he began. “This afternoon, we'll have a hot bath right away, along with a good sized jug of cold drinking water, and some light refreshments. The clothes we're wearing under the armour would benefit from your laundry service. At dinner hour, we'd like a hot meal, the speciality of the house is fine, double portions, plus dark ale, Amaranthine if you have it, and I assume you have Rainsefere cider? Yes, good. And tomorrow morning, a traditional hot breakfast, double portions, plus two pots of tea. We don't require any _speciality_ services from the staff,” he said, and Rowan hid a smile at how tactful he was in saying they didn't want to hire any prostitutes.

Sythia didn't so much as blink, nor raise a neatly groomed brow, and her professionally polite smile never changed.

“Yes, my lord, I'm sure we can accommodate you. Step this way, please.”

Nathaniel followed the woman to a polished wooden bench, beside which stood a very large, very stern, highly armed qunari. Sythia ran a quick tally and gave Nathaniel the cost. He countered with a much lower offer. They haggled back and forth a bit, and eventually agreed to a price, which Nathaniel paid in full with the agreement to settle any other expenses they might incur before they left. She put the money into a lockbox under the counter and the watchful eye of the qunari guard and then retrieved the key. She gestured to a servant and gave a set of instructions, then she tilted her head to invite Rowan and Nathaniel to follow her.

Sythia unlocked the door and stood aside for them to enter, and then put the key on a hook just inside the door. They were standing in a kind of alcove, with a partial wall against which there was a dining table and four chairs. From where they stood, they couldn't see much in the room, itself, the alcove providing some privacy and a place where staff could leave food, drink, or other things without having to come all the way into the room.

“Your bath will be here shortly,” Sythia said, and led them through to the main area. The room was flooded with natural light from a high, angled skylight with frosted glass set into a gable on the souther wall. The tawny afternoon sunlight was reflected back and forth between the mirrors that adored almost every wall and even the ceiling. There were also candle sconces all around the walls and lamps in various locations, though none were currently lit, nor was the hearth.

The impressive bathtub, which was deep and big enough to accommodate several people, was set below the high window with mirrors on three walls surrounding it.

“There is a privy through that door,” Sythia said, pointing to a mirrored door in the far corner, “plus a dressing room with armour stands and other means by which to stow your gear. That is also where you'll find a basket for your clothes for the laundry. We'll have them back to you with your breakfast. The bell is here, please ring to let us know when you would like your dinner, so that we don't disturb you and your food will be guaranteed to be hot. Candle lighters will come to the room as the sun sets; if you don't wish to be disturbed, they will leave tapers and everything else you need outside the door. Also please ring if you have any additional requirements. We are here to serve you and someone is always on duty to meet your needs, whatever they are. I wish you a pleasurable visit, my lord, my lady.”

And with that, Sythia bowed slightly and backed out of the room.

Near the middle of the room but close to a mirrored wall, there was a very big bed, quite plain, without a canopy or bedposts, and with only a very low headboard and footboard that were flush with the mattress, and a pair of low, plain tables set like night stands. Undoubtedly, this design was to afford the occupants of the bed with an unobstructed view in the mirrors, including the ones on the ceiling. There were also a trio of free-standing, full-length mirrors which could be angled and even moved around.

The room's purpose was utterly unmistakable to anyone who knew anything at all about sex.

Nathaniel grinned at Rowan as he started to unbuckle the straps of his armour while he moved toward the dressing room.

“Well, shall we get to it?” he asked, and she followed him with a smile.

They stowed their gear and armour, and just as they finished undressing, there was a knock at the door, and Rowan handed Nathaniel his dressing gown, even though she had to know he would be entirely comfortable walking around naked. It was not like the employees in a brothel would be bothered by the sight of a naked man. Nathaniel glanced at himself in the mirrors as he put the robe on and called out permission to enter as he tied the belt.

A Qunari guard stepped into the room and stood, quietly alert, just inside the door, protection for the servants, just in case some rowdy guest decided that some poor serving wench suited their taste more than the trained professionals. Some people thought everyone was fair game, unfortunately. A middle-aged laundress came to take their clothes to be washed, just as a parade of servants carrying buckets of water started to file into the room to fill the tub. Someone placed something on the table in the entry area and then left. Rowan emerged in her dressing gown and watched as Nathaniel consulted with an attendant who offered a selection of bath items, finally settling on a sprinkling of dried rose petals and lavender scented Antivan soap. The staff were quiet, deferential, and carefully kept their eyes averted, which is just what Nathaniel would have expected.

The moment that Rowan and Nathaniel were alone, he went to the door and locked it, hanging the key back on the hook by the door, which was the accepted etiquette. Staff and guards, of course, had master keys to come and go as they pleased; professional reputation prevented them from using those keys without extremely good reason or permission to enter an occupied room. Leaving the key in the keyhole certainly wouldn't prevent them from using a master key, but it meant they had to use a lockpicking tool to force the key out, so the convention was for guests to just leave the key out of the lock. Really, the lock on the door was only to keep out wandering guests, but it gave a measure of added comfort and privacy.

When Nathaniel returned to the main room, he stood by the tub, his back to Rowan, and let his dressing gown slide off to the floor. He pulled the leather tie out of his hair and ran his fingers through it, and it fell past his shoulders. In the mirror, he saw Rowan untie her dressing gown and shrug out of it as she approached him, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her breasts into his back as she leaned into him.

“Shall we get in the bath?” he asked her, his voice husky.

She kissed his back and slid a hand over his chest, teasing a nipple, her other hand resting on his flat, firm belly before she let her fingers follow the trail of hair from his navel, down between his legs. He was already semi-hard, and he grew instantly harder at her touch. Nathaniel made an appreciative noise in his throat, watching in the mirror behind the tub.

“Yes,” she answered. “Though I do like the musky scent of your skin when you've just been exercising and you were clean beforehand. You smell like leather and fresh sweat and... masculinity. Next time we spar, I think we might spend some time in our room before we bathe.”

“Or somewhere else around the Keep? There are plenty of places we could go that would be rather naughty for peeling off our clothes.”

“Mmmm. That sounds fun. For now, though, let's take advantage of this lovely, hot bath, shall we?”

Maker she was a delight. She was practically melting into him, her breasts pressed against him, holding him with so much affection and care that it made his heart beat faster. Nathaniel had never seen Rowan so well, so content. She was sleeping soundly, laughing and joking, open to conversation, and she had fought extremely well earlier in the day, which was why it took him so long to finally win, and even then, his victory was slightly dubious. Her form was just that good in all respects.

He was sure her good spirits were not due to being at court. She was still frequently bemused by the pretences and expectations of courtly concerns, and commented on it regularly. She may be enjoying the temporary relief from the burdens of command, certainly, but he knew for sure that her agreement with Anora regarding Alistair was not something Rowan was happy about, and that it weighed on her like so many other responsibilities as Warden-Commander. And yet, here she was, giggling and relaxed and looking like the young, beautiful, noblewoman she was. The change was astounding.

Nathaniel hoped her good mood was due to being with him, free of most of her responsibilities. He wondered what would happen when they got back to Vigil's Keep and she had to take up the heavy mantle of command once again. Nathaniel smiled as he thought of ways to get her to take more breaks. Excuses to bring her to Denerim, to Amaranthine, perhaps even to Highever, which she would have to face eventually. He would have to have a word with Teagan, or with Anora, and see about coming to some sort of arrangement to get Rowan away from her command for a few days now and then. Varel would want to be in on it, as well, and Garevel, and they'd have to start training up one or two Grey Wardens who could step into command if both he and Rowan were away.

His smile widened, and Rowan kissed his back again, seeing his reflection.

“What's making you so happy?” she asked.

“You are,” he answered truthfully, or at least, mostly truthfully. “It's always you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The time spent in Denerim is setting up a number of things that will happen later in the story, and it has the character of a honeymoon or a lazy vacation, where they spend a lot of time together and have a lot of meandering conversations and just really get to know each other. And have a lot of sex. Therefore, the story is not going anywhere, or not going very fast. 
> 
> I'm not entirely happy with the pacing, to be honest, but part of my purpose in writing this is to learn through hands-on practice about things like pacing and timing and so on, and once I've published the work, I generally leave it alone (other than sometimes going back to fix typos or formatting errors if I happen to spot them; I try to spot them right away, but sometimes I miss stuff), so it has to stand as it is. I'm working with a not-that-big buffer at the moment, so there's no ability to go back and edit, at least, not very far back. 
> 
> Now I've learned a bit more about pacing, though, so it's all good, and if you don't mind a fair bit of fluff and emotional porn and sexy stuff and intimate dialogue, hey, it's all good. ;) 
> 
> That said, the story will pick up again fairly soon and there are some surprising twists on the way.


	56. Mirror, Mirror (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel and Rowan finish their bath and start to discover the fun of self reflection. (Ha ha.)
> 
> Definitely NSFW, though it doesn't get really graphic until after they get out of the bath. Then there's a fair bit of consensual kink, though just how kinky it is depends how kinky you think mirror sex is. There's also some very light dom/sub, but only very minor.

Nathaniel disentangled himself from Rowan's arms and went over to the tub and put in a hand to test the water, which he found quite warm but tolerable. He stepped into the bath and paused to look in the mirrors before he sat down.

“Yes, you're very handsome, I told you that just this morning,” Rowan said as she watched him, a smile on her face. “And your physique is very fine, indeed, with those broad shoulders and the long legs and those slim hips. I see now why you wanted to be in a room full of mirrors. I had no idea you were so vain.”

“I'm not... Well, all right, I might be a little vain,” he conceded with a smirk as she stepped into the tub, largely ignoring the mirrors as she did so. “But it's only because you're so astoundingly beautiful. It makes me self-conscious.”

She snorted. He grinned.

Rowan settled down into the fragrant water, sitting across from him, and slid a foot up between his legs. The tub was large enough that she could only just caress his cock a bit with her toes. She glanced in the mirror to her side and watched as he grabbed the soap and started to wash her foot, sliding his fingers sensually between her toes, rubbing the sole of her foot.

“Maker, that's good,” she said with a slight groan.

“Does this please you?” he asked. “I'll be happy to massage your feet for you if you enjoy it. And I'll massage anything else you'd like.”

“And why have you not offered to give me a massage before now?”

“I suppose I should have,” he admitted. “But the suggestion I did have about letting go of control was a good option, and it has been mutually enjoyable. Not that massage isn't, but it's a different kind of... It relieves physical stresses and it does feel very nice, both to give and to receive, but most of your stresses are not physical.”

“Be honest, you just wanted to see me submissive,” she said with mock accusation and a smirk.

“I cannot deny that.” She still hadn't fully given in to him, though. She still hid part of herself from him, he could sense it in her, feel it. Someday, he hoped, he'd see all of her. He suspected he'd be the only man to ever see that.

“I must say, the anticipation you've created for delights we've yet to sample together is provocative,” she commented.

“The anticipation adds to the pleasure,” Nathaniel explained, taking up her other foot in his hands. “We have several interesting possibilities lined up, hmm? I am most definitely going to tie you down and tease you until you beg for sexual relief, and then I'm going to pleasure you mercilessly until you beg me to stop so you can catch your breath.”

She groaned, making him chuckle.

“Angry sex will happen eventually,” she pointed out, “because we will undoubtedly get into some heated argument over something stupid.”

“Indeed,” he answered with a grin. “And we were talking about rough and dirty sex, but we'll wait for the right moment for that to unfold. What else did we have in the queue? Various kinds of inappropriate behaviour in inappropriate locations, I believe? Any other suggestions?”

“Hmm. Can I tie you up?”

“If you like.”

“Really? I wouldn't have thought you'd go for that. You are quite dominant.”

“So are you,” he shrugged. “I can tell you that I wouldn't mind having Lady Bossyboots order me to please her in various ways to suit her whim. Shall we add that to the anticipation queue, then?”

“Hmm,” she answered non-committally. She had that look on her face that indicated she was thinking of the fool who had once been her lover. Nathaniel didn't know because he'd never asked, but he would bet the fool enjoyed being ordered around, given the way he shamefully forced Rowan to take command and responsibility the moment she'd managed to survive her Joining. Nathaniel stretched out one long leg between hers and wiggled his toes against the tender flesh at the junction of her thighs, distracting her from whatever she was thinking.

“Hand me the soap,” she said, and reached to take it from him. She got the foot he didn't have nestled between her legs and washed and rubbed it the way he'd done with hers, and he made a very appreciative noise. Maker, how long had it been since anyone had massaged his feet? Or, come to think of it, any part of him? He'd gotten massages regularly when he was doing field training, but that was medicinal and in no way erotic, even if it was also pleasurable.

“Good?” she asked, and he nodded, flexing his toes as she pressed her thumbs to the soles of his feet.

Rowan pulled up the foot that he had between her legs to wash and massage that one. When she finished, she put the soap aside, working her hands up his legs while she scooted closer to him and got up onto her knees. He opened his legs wider, one on either side of her, and held out his arms to her.

“Come here,” he said, and she moved toward him until she was face to face, pressed against his body a little awkwardly. She smiled and kissed his smirking mouth and then again.

Nathaniel happily watched Rowan's wet breasts jiggle and move as she sat back on her haunches in the bath water, lathered her hands, and put the soap aside again. She raised her soapy hands to his neck and rubbed there, her strong, dexterous fingers pressing into his muscles and tendons, stroking pleasurably. She moved on to his shoulders with the same sensual, massaging touch and he let his eyes close. When she took up his left arm and started moving her hands down it, he winced in pain.

“Careful there,” he said.

“Is this where Teagan bashed you?” she asked, examining his arm. He opened his eyes and turned his head to look. Sure enough, his upper arm, elbow, and part of the forearm were a blotchy blue-pink-purple, indicating a deep bruise that had not yet fully developed or fully discoloured, but which would soon be very large, and very ugly. “How bad is it? Does it hurt?” she asked.

He couldn't help but smile at her concern over something so trivial. “It's not bad,” Nathaniel assured her. “It only hurts when you press directly on it. My armour was pressing on it a little harder than I'd have liked, too, but I've been injured far, far worse than this.”

“I know you have, and this is hardly life-threatening,” she answered with a roll of her green eyes, “but you went to all this trouble to get me to this establishment, and you know how exuberant we can be once we really get going. I just don't want to hurt you if I grab you the wrong way.”

“Don't worry, minx,” he said, sliding his right hand up her thigh to rest it on her hip. “There's a fine line between pain and pleasure, and sometimes one enhances the other.”

“So you have said before,” Rowan said as she sat back and moved to wash his other arm, carefully running her hands down the curves of the muscles, reverently, as if she'd never seen more appealing arms. He found that hard to believe, but was, as ever, happy that he pleased her. He flexed the muscles in his arm and she grinned at him.

“There's a fine line between love and hate, too,” she said thoughtfully.

“There is that, yes,” he admitted. Neither one said it, but that principle had undoubtedly played a role in the development of their own relationship.

Rowan worked her hands up his sides and rubbed her soapy fingertips in his armpits, which made him squirm. He was ticklish there and she knew it, but she didn't persist. Instead, she slid her hands around to rub the muscles of his chest, which was very pleasant, indeed. And now her thumbs were on his nipples, teasing, and his breath quickened in response even as his nipples grew hard. His cock was already hard, and had been for some time.

They had spent the morning in bed together, so there was no particular urgency now, only a kind of sexy, intimate playfulness. It never took much to ignite their mutual desire, though, and for the time they'd been in Denerim, there had been little to officially occupy their time. Evon had said it it seemed like they were on a honeymoon, and while Nathaniel had scoffed at the time, on reflection, he thought it really was like that. They'd spent almost every moment together, shopping, eating, drinking, sleeping, reading, dancing, talking, and fucking each other silly, with few responsibilities to distract them. If that wasn't a kind of honeymoon, what was? It wasn't celebrating a marriage, and it was definitely not what he'd expected from this trip, but he was more than happy it turned out this way.

They spent some time in the bath, washing each other very thoroughly and quite intimately. When they were both as clean as they were likely to get, hair and all, Rowan cuddled up with Nathaniel, her back to his chest, head on his shoulder, the way they often sat in the hot spring bath at Vigil's Keep. They sat together and enjoyed the water and each others' company, idly watching their own reflection in the mirrors, talking about nothing of any great importance, until the water grew tepid.

“Come on, my love, let's get out of the water before it's completely cold,” he suggested. “And we're losing daylight.”

“Well, there are a lot of candles, and lamps, too,” she pointed out.

“Yes, but the afternoon light is different from the morning light, and also from the candlelight. So we should make use of all of them, don't you think?”

“Yes, I see your point. We should make use of the all resources we have available. Ah, what would I do without the good advice of my trusted lieutenant?”

“What, indeed?” he answered, enjoying the quite explicit view of her backside as she got up.

Nathaniel waited for her to get out and then pulled the drain plug and followed her just as she was taking up one of the large, soft towels. Stealing kisses and sharing caresses, they dried each other with practised ease. Unsurprisingly, they ended up in a passionate kiss, bodies pressed together, towels forgotten on the floor. Nathaniel nudged the pair of them closer to the bed. When they were standing beside it, he turned Rowan to face one of the mirrors as he stood behind her, with one hand on her shoulder and the other on her hip.

“There you go, look,” he said, looking into the mirror, moving his hands over her body as he spoke in her ear. “Do you see how beautiful you are? All muscles and curves and sinew and strength and grace. You are gorgeous. And before you say it, the scars just enhance it. Those scars are like a badge of honour, proclaiming victory.”

She was watching his hands in the mirror. He made a deliberate show of it for her, fondling her breasts, tweaking and pinching her nipples while he kissed her neck and shoulder. He could see by her reflected expression that she was aroused, and her quickened breath confirmed it. She pressed her delightful backside against him and his cock, which had settled down at least somewhat, sprang to attention again and nestled between her cheeks. He slid a hand down her stomach, her lower belly, then between her legs, cupping her mound firmly, and watching his movements while simultaneously feeling them was powerfully arousing.

“I have an idea,” he whispered. “Sit down on the edge of the bed here, and open your legs.” He got on the bed behind her and knelt there, putting his arms around her. “Lean back against me.” He took one of her hands and placed it between her open thighs, and then wrapped both arms around her, getting his own fingers against the tender flesh. He gently spread her open and held her that way, and she gasped softly. “Go on,” he urged. “I would love to see you make yourself come. I think you might like it, too.”

Rowan glanced at him via the mirror, then did as he had suggested, her fingertips pressing against her own deep pink flesh, rubbing in slow, wide circles at first, and then smaller, more directed strokes the more aroused she became. The sight of her made Nathaniel want to put his tongue there, and put his cock there, and it made him want to touch her there so he was the one making her come, but he was going to let her finish. It didn't make any difference that he'd made love to her only a few hours earlier. He still wanted her, he always wanted her, and he was grateful that he could have her and that she wanted him just as much.

He looked back and forth between her fingers and her face in the mirror, and saw that she was doing the same. She was whimpering, and by the way she arched her back and the noises she was making, he thought she was probably right on the edge of a climax.

“Show me. Let me see,” he whispered in her ear, and that was enough to push her right over the edge. She lay her head back on his shoulder, gasping with pleasure, her fingers still moving between her thighs.

Nathaniel put one hand on hers and lightly rubbed the back of her hand and then her fingers. She relaxed against him as she came down from her climax and he slipped his own fingers beneath hers, and pulled his other hand up to cup her breast. Gently, slowly, he slipped his fingertip between her folds. He kissed her cheek and started to slowly draw circles around her tender, swollen bud. She moaned her approval and watched his hand with heavy-lidded eyes, panting. She started to squirm a little, and he increased his pace while decreasing the size of the circles until he was rubbing her pearl directly. Her legs started to tremble, her vocalisations started to become erratic and needy, and he smiled with satisfaction as he watched himself pleasuring her.

He loved pleasing her, loved making her come. She was squirming against him, making his hard cock throb with wanting her. When he was satisfied with making her climax with his fingers, he intended to lay himself back on the bed and get her to straddle him, and he wasn't going to hold back for long, because they had a long night ahead of them and there was plenty of time to dally in the candlelight.

In the waning afternoon light, he intended to watch in the mirrors as she fucked him, her beautiful, strong legs and taut, curvaceous arse flexing as she moved on his shaft, her tits jiggling, her eyes glazed with lust while he bucked his hips and filled her up completely and pressed his thumb to her pearl to drive her wild. He was going to watch Rowan Cousland in all her magnificent, erotic glory, riding him to climax, both her own and his. He could feel his cock starting to dribble in anticipation.

“Do you want to watch me make you come?” he asked in her ear and she grunted something that sounded like a _yes_ , so he pressed his fingertip a bit more firmly against that sweet little bud of flesh between her folds. “Then come for me now, and watch.”

Oh, and she did, so beautifully, arching her back, her legs trembling visibly, eyes glued to the his hand in the reflection. She gasped his name and then something about the Maker and then gave a guttural cry as, shuddering, she came undone at his touch.

“I love you,” he whispered in her ear. She, lost in her pleasure, didn't respond, but he didn't expect her to, and he already knew she loved him, anyway.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a few things in my life that are demanding my attention just now. It's nothing bad, just stuff that requires me to focus most of my time/energy, and that means I am not writing. This was posted about a week later than I normally would have, but I've still got chapters waiting and some plot twists. I did learn a fair bit about pacing, though, so that was worth it, and I do indulge in rather more fluff and smut than is strictly necessary, but, hey, that was in the tags from day one, so... ;) 
> 
> I've said this before, but I am absolutely committed to finishing this fic. I set it as a goal to write it, publish it, and finish it, so I will certainly do so. Just right now, I'll be publishing a bit more slowly until I sort out the temporary attention-stealing stuff in my life (shouldn't take too long). But I'm still here and still on the fic. I couldn't stop even if I wanted to. The characters live in my head and nudge me to write more. They want their story told, fluff, smut, and all, it would seem.


	57. Candlelight Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel and Rowan talk about brothel etiquette and eventually enjoy a nice dinner by candlelight. 
> 
> Some mild sexual references, nothing graphic.

Rowan pulled herself off of Nathaniel and flopped out on the bed on her back beside him and looked up at their reflection on the ceiling. Well, that had been interesting, and highly erotic. The reflection in the mirrors, seeing as well as feeling what was happening as it happened, created a kind of pleasure loop, doubling back on itself, intensifying everything. Rowan was looking forward to more later. She had a few things in mind, some angles and perspectives and positions she wanted to try. For the moment, though, she was a bit peckish. If it wasn't one appetite, it was another.

“Don't we have some food?” she asked.

“We do. Muffins, I believe. And cold water if you'd like a drink.”

“Yes, please.”

He rolled onto his side and kissed her on the mouth, and then pulled back and gave her a look so tender she thought she might melt. Strangely, the more time she spent with him, the better looking he seemed to be. Right now, he was absolutely the handsomest, most attractive man she'd ever seen in her life.

Nathaniel got out of the bed and glanced in the mirrors as he went to the alcove and returned to the bed carrying the tray from the table. He had left the jug behind, but there were two goblets filled with water and a covered basket on the tray. Rowan sat up and crossed her legs, tailor style, accepted the goblet from him, and drank half of it in one go before she set it aside on the low table nearest her. In the basket were four large muffins. She took one, bit into it, and was pleased to find it was honey and walnuts.

They were companionably silent while they ate. They'd been talking all afternoon and for the moment, they were happy to just enjoy the treats and bask in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

“The mirrors are quite interesting,” Nathaniel said when he'd finished the muffin and drained his goblet. He set it on the low, plain night stand near him and stretched out on the bed, crossing his feet at the ankles, his hands behind his head. He looked up in the mirror and then looked over at Rowan. “I've always wanted to try this. I'm glad it was with you.”

“Well, you're far more experienced than I, even for all that I did read Brother Capria's book,” she answered. “I'm glad there is at least something new to you. Although I don't recall anything about mirrors in that book, for what it's worth.”

She finished the water in her goblet and set it aside once more, and Nathaniel pulled one hand from behind his head and opened his arm to her. That was an invitation she had no desire to decline. In a moment, they were snuggled up together, legs entwined, both half on their back and half on their side, looking up into the mirror in the evening light.

“We really are made for each other,” Nathaniel commented, and she smiled at their reflection. “We're perfect together.”

Rowan smiled and reached over to pull him closer so she could kiss him.

The knock at the door startled her.

“Do you want to cover up?” Nathaniel asked. “You don't have to. I know you're not fussed about nudity, and the staff is very discreet.”

“Yes, I imagine they are,” Rowan said.

“Just slip between the sheets, if you want to. Trust me, they won't be at all bothered by a naked woman in a bed.”

Rowan shrugged and did as he suggested, turning onto her side and pulling the covers up to her neck.

There was a second discreet knock. Nathaniel got out of bed and grabbed up his dressing gown, throwing it on as he walked to the door. Rowan heard him unlock it and a small murmur of explanation, and she heard Nathaniel say, “Yes, of course.”

Rowan was mildly surprised to get a glimpse of the Qunari guard standing just inside the door, while two servants came in with long tapers to light the many candles and the lamps. She supposed they asked if the service was wanted, and Nathaniel had invited them to enter. They were very efficient and finished quickly, even when Nathaniel asked them to light the hearth, as well. They disappeared, the Qunari guard going with them. Nathaniel followed and locked the door again, hanging the key back up.

“The guard, I presume, is for the protection of the servants? I saw there was one earlier, as well,” Rowan noted. The room was bathed in the golden light of many flames, all reflecting off the mirrors. It was magically beautiful. Rowan was looking forward to seeing it when the natural light had finally fled completely.

“Yes,” Nathaniel answered as he threw off the robe and snuggled under the covers with her. “I doubt that it happens a great deal, but assault of various kinds against the servants must have happened enough that they started to take precautions.”

“That makes sense. What about the skilled professionals, though? I assume they don't send a guard with them.”

“Ah, but they _are_ professionals, that's the difference. They have ways and means of dealing with rowdy clients. Most are trained in self-defence, and I suspect more than a few have a weapon, say, a sharpened hair pin or a bracelet that conceals a knife or something of that sort, and they can also just ring the bell for assistance. That's why the bell cord is inside the room and not by the door. Easier to reach.”

“And if the door is locked?”

“You know as much about picking locks as I do. The locks on these doors are not particularly complex, but as it happens, the staff and guards have master keys, of course. If you leave the key in the lock, it will take slightly longer for them to get in, but they certainly can, and quickly. Plus the doors are specially made to give way easily if they have to break them in. If I had called out to enter instead of going to the door, they would have used their master key and come in. Also, they wouldn't have knocked a third time. If you don't answer by the second knock, they assume you're busy and go. They would have left a tinder box and unlit tapers outside the door for us to collect as we wished.”

“Well, you certainly seem to know a lot about brothels,” Rowan said with a little smirk.

“They normally give you a list of etiquette and service expectations when you first arrive, but if you recall, Sythia asked if I'd been here before, and I conducted myself like a man who knew his way around a brothel, so Sythia didn't give the full lecture. At least, that's what I assume. They tend not to repeat all of the the rules for returning customers.”

“Isn't it unusual to bring your own lover to place like this?”

“Possibly, but not unheard of. I expect most situations like that would involve a third party, though, one of the specialist staff. They probably assume that you and I are illicit lovers, one or both of us married to other people, meeting in a brothel where we're unlikely to be discovered or seen and where we can count on their discretion.”

“Hmmm,” she returned. “I noticed one of the soaps they offered was unscented. I presume that would be so you didn't go home to your spouse smelling like you'd just had a scented bath.”

“Oh, you are clever,” he said, pulling her a bit closer. “I'm glad you're not someone else's wife, though. The temptation to kill him would be too great,” he confessed playfully.

“I already told you, love, vengeance solves nothing.”

“It wouldn't be vengeance. It would be eliminating a rival so I could have you to myself.”

“Is that so? Has it occurred to you that if I were someone else's wife, I wouldn't be dallying with you?”

“Yes,” he answered quietly. “I am grateful that you were unattached when I came to Vigil's Keep. I don't know how I would have been able to resist you.”

“You would have, though. You did a fine job of resisting me for months,” she pointed out. “I had to explicitly ask you to be my lover before you'd even kiss me. You have far more self-control than you think.”

“You're probably right. Sometimes it's hard to remember that I'm not the arrogant, reckless young man I once was,” he admitted with a sigh. He stroked her cheek, looking at her with an intense gaze. “I want you to know that for all the things I got up to, none of them were very meaningful. It was all just passing fancy. You, on the other hand, you're _real_. Being with you means something. It means everything. Not just the sex, though that is spectacular, but everything about you.”

He looked at her with such passion in his eyes, such adoration, that Rowan had to lower her gaze. He could be so intense sometimes. When he brooded, when he was angry, when he was expressing his love or his sexual desire, he was always so passionate. It was heady and enveloping and it scared her sometimes to be the subject of such fierceness. Sometimes she wanted to tell him that, but she didn't know how he'd take it. She expected he would kiss her, tell her not to worry, and kiss her some more, and that would be nice, but it wouldn't help at all.

She leaned closer to his face and kissed him on the mouth, partly to make him stop talking and partly because she wanted to kiss him. She loved him, and it was good, but a part of her was still bothered by her dependence on him. She kissed him again, closing her eyes, enjoying the feeling of his lips on hers, of his tongue in her mouth, and she put aside her concerns because kissing him had a way of driving everything else away. That was always the way it was.

“It's almost dark,” he said after they'd been kissing leisurely for a while. He brushed hair out of her face tenderly. “Nearly dinner time. Hungry?”

“I'm a Grey Warden, I'm always hungry. Or, at least, I can always eat.”

“Yes, I'm not sure if that's a blessing or a curse, really.”

“Same with other increased appetites?” she asked playfully.

“Oh, that's mostly a blessing,” he answered with a smirk. “At least now that we share a bed. Before, it was a bit more troubling and a good deal more uncomfortable. And I'll admit that it's a little disturbing that I can't seem to keep my hands off you.”

“Or your mouth,” she pointed out. “Or your cock, come to think of it.”

He kissed her firmly on the lips. “Those, too. Do you want to ring for dinner? It will take a little while for them to get it sorted and bring it up here.”

“Yes, all right,” she agreed with a little smile, and watched him as he got out of bed and rang the bell. There was a knock on the door very shortly, and Nathaniel threw on his dressing gown and answered it, telling them they were ready for their meal. She heard him lock the door after the servant left, and in a moment he was back in the bed with her, cuddling up to her affectionately.

About twenty minutes later, there was another knock at the door. Nathaniel called for them to enter, there was the sound of the lock turning, and a male voice called out that their dinner was served.

“Just put it on the table, if you please,” Nathaniel said as he got out of the bed, still wearing his dressing gown, though this time he tied the belt instead of just holding it together with his fist. Rowan sat up, confident that the staff neither cared nor would look at her, and slipped out of the bed to grab her own dressing gown to wander over to the alcove by the door. The food smelled amazing, and she watched as the servant placed the covered dishes on the table, a cloth covered basket of what was probably fresh bread, and then a bucket of ice with bottles of drink on a stand to the side. The Qunari guard was standing nonchalantly in the corridor just outside the door.

“If you require anything, please ring,” the young man said when he'd finished his task. Rowan noticed that the man carefully kept his gaze averted, though it came across as deferential rather than rude. The staff must be trained in that.

“Thank you,” Rowan said, just as Nathaniel came up behind her and put his arms around her waist. The young man bowed and slipped out of the room, leaving the lovers alone with their meal.

It turned out to be roast pork with roasted spring vegetables, and the basket did, indeed, contain a loaf of freshly baked rye bread. There was also butter and a selection of condiments, and the portions were certainly very generous. Rowan wondered if she'd be able to eat it all, and found that, of course, she could. Dessert was a cobbler made with raisins and dried apple.

Rowan sat, her hunger completely sated, drinking the first bottle of cider. Nathaniel smiled warmly at her as he drank his ale, having finished his own meal.

“Well, there's one kind of appetite satisfied,” he commented. “I say we just let this settle for a bit and then see to the other again. You up to it?”

She snorted. “Oh, it's not me who has to get it up, my love.”

His face softened at the term of endearment. “I wouldn't worry about that, but if there's a problem, I'm sure you can think of some way to help.”

She grinned at him. “In fact, I do have a few ideas.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably keep to my slightly slower posting schedule for a little while longer. I am still writing, and as mentioned, I have absolutely every intention of finishing this (and I do have an outline, so while some of the pacing is a little off and I do indulge in fluff and smut more than strictly necessary, the story does have specific story points and goals and all that). Having a little more "wiggle room" with being able to go back and edit makes for a better story, overall, I think. 
> 
> Also, I may have thought about how Ferelden (and probably Free Marcher) brothels do business. :-P


	58. Understandings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel and Rowan enjoy a nice breakfast, do some shopping, have lunch in a tavern, and Nathaniel has a private word with Teagan. 
> 
> Entirely SFW.

Nathaniel and Rowan had both awoken with the dawn. Given the way light flooded into the room from the skylight, it was almost impossible to avoid, but they both tended to be early risers, anyway. After they carried out their plans for taking advantage of the morning light, they enjoyed an excellent hot breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausages, toast, cooked mushrooms, and, of course, tea.

Rowan couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so completely at ease and so very satisfied in every way, but it had to be before the Blight. She was physically comfortable and sexually sated, full of tasty food, had slept well, and she was not worrying about anything at all just at the moment. It was near bliss.

As they strolled out of the establishment, Nathaniel nodded to the hostess who was on duty, a slender blonde woman whose name they didn't get. He offered his compliments on the service and the food, and she thanked them for their business and bid them to come again, which made Rowan smirk in a very unladylike way.

If anyone on the staff of the The Velvet Purse suspected that the establishment had just played host to the Hero of Ferelden and the son of the Butcher of Denerim, no one gave any indication whatsoever. Rowan appreciated the anonymity, or the discretion, whichever it was.

They stopped at the perfumery, where Nathaniel bought himself some of the sage and lavender blend that he'd worn to the reception. He sampled a few others and insisted that Rowan have a citrus and spice and sandalwood perfume that they were told was a traditional Rivaini formula. It was not something she would normally have even considered, but Nathaniel liked it on her wrist so much he wouldn't take no for an answer. She also got some of the more familiar rose and musk she normally wore, and they acquired some lavender scented Antivan soaps that were on offer, along with two casks of scented body powder, one rose and one lavender.

They called into a book store and browsed for their own interests, and Rowan was intrigued to look up from the book she was considering to find Nathaniel in quiet conversation with the shopkeeper. They left the shop with a few more items for light reading and a manual on advanced fletching techniques for Nathaniel, who was competent enough with repairing his own arrows, but thought he might be able to learn something new and improve his skill.

Around midday, they went into a popular tavern to eat. Rowan was amused to hear the minstrel there singing a ballad about the Hero of Ferelden and her dashing lover, who had come to kill her and ended up pledging himself to the Grey Wardens and being redeemed by his service and and his love for the Hero. Nathaniel smirked and winked at Rowan, while she grinned back at him, and wondered how long it would be before there were ballads about how he overcame his family's shame through service and love and nobility of character and various other lofty ideals.

When the ballad was done, Rowan called out to ask if the minstrel knew any about the royal bastard who had jilted the Hero of Ferelden, and she was rewarded with a hilariously scathing story about the foolish young man of royal blood who had abandoned his duty to the nation and thrown aside the fair and brave hero. The ballad painted him as a coward who left out of fear of having to face the archdemon. Despite that rather glaring error, Rowan was rather smugly satisfied that Alistair came off so badly for having deserted her, even if the story was embellished and unrealistically portrayed. Nathaniel watched her as she listened to the ballad and smirked in between bites of his meal.

The next song was an older favourite, _Arl Jacen's Ride_ , a rollicking and amusing story about a long gone Arl of Redcliffe who kept a lover in a fortified villa in the Hinterlands, and the arl's attempts to make it back to Redcliffe and his wife before the sun came up.

When they entered the courtyard of the Grey Warden complex in the early afternoon, Rowan was singing a rather raunchy song about nugs and Nathaniel was laughing. Ser Barkley, hearing Rowan's voice, bounded up and nearly knocked her over. He'd apparently been lounging in the grass of the courtyard, waiting for her to return. He pressed his large, muscular frame into her legs with a whine that was a cross between excitement and annoyance.

“Oh, hello, Ser,” Rowan said, patting the dog on the shoulder while he wriggled all over, his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth. “Did you miss me? I wasn't even away for a whole day! What's wrong, were you bored? Here I am, now, anyway.”

The dog turned to Nathaniel and made a noise that was a mix between a grunt and a whine, and Nathaniel nodded in acknowledgement and patted the mabari's head.

“There you are!” It was Sigrun, who had come out to see what Ser Barkley was going on about. “Have fun? Ser Barkley and I were fine, don't let him tell you otherwise. He even slept on the bed with me. I'm so short, there was plenty of room for him at the end!”

Rowan looked at the happy mabari and said, “Well, come on, boy, I'm going to go sit and read until it's time for a bath. No, not for you, for us, before dinner. You're fine, I'm sure, and only a little smelly. And then we'll be here tonight, don't worry.”

“You go on,” Nathaniel said to Rowan. “I have a few things to sort out.”

“Like what?” Rowan wanted to know.

“Breakfast tomorrow, for one. And I want to send a message to my sister just to confirm the travel arrangements back to the Keep. You go and enjoy your... literature,” he said with a smirk. “I'll be back soon enough.”

Rowan smiled and shrugged. “As you like,” she said lightly, and gave him a quick kiss on the mouth before she disappeared into the suite, her dog in tow.

 

~*~

 

“Lieutenant Commander, do come in,” Teagan said as an assistant ushered the Warden into the bann's office. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Thank you for seeing me,” Nathaniel said. “I know you must be busy.”

“In fact, I am pleased to have a legitimate excuse to put aside these rather tiresome diplomatic letters for a while. Sit down. Can I offer you refreshments? Tea? Ale? Wine?”

“No, thank you,” Nathaniel answered, and Teagan nodded to the clerk, who left the office and shut the door behind him.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Teagan asked with a smile.

“I need your help with something,” Nathaniel began. “Rowan's family had quite a library at Highever Castle, and it included a number of rare books. She and I were discussing one of them, and she expressed an interest in finding another copy, if at all possible, since the library was lost when the castle fell. I did speak to a bookseller today, but was assured that the book she's interested in would be difficult to acquire. There are, apparently, still copies of it about, despite the book having been banned by the Chantry. I thought that perhaps with your contacts, you might be able to locate a copy of it. I'd like to give it to her as a surprise gift. I do expect it to be expensive, but I believe I can see my way clear to its acquisition if I can only find one to purchase.”

“Intriguing,” Teagan answered, a bit of a twinkle in his eye. “What's the book?”

“The Art of Passionate Love, by Brother Capria,” Nathaniel answered, keeping his expression perfectly controlled.

Teagan laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yes, I thought that might be it. They had a copy at Highever, did they? I'm not surprised. Shame about the loss of that library. It was quite the collection, as I understand it.”

Nathaniel, having seen the collection, nodded in agreement. Of course, it was his father's treachery that led to that loss, but he couldn't do anything about that and he knew Teagan wouldn't bring it up, so it remained unsaid, thankfully.

“I will speak to the archivist in the royal library,” Teagan said. “If anyone will know where to enquire and to whom, she will. I'll send word if I get any leads.”

“Thank you, that would be much appreciated,” Nathaniel said sincerely.

“Was that all?”

“Ah, no. This one is a bit more complex. As you know, Rowan takes duty and responsibility very seriously. So seriously that she has a hard time relaxing if she knows there's work she could be doing. This is admirable, of course, but it puts her at a disadvantage, because she rarely releases her burden of command, and it weighs on her.”

“She is very dutiful,” Teagan said, a little sadly, Nathaniel thought.

“I have noticed that in the time we've been here in Denerim, she has been much more relaxed, and I would like to conspire with you and possibly the queen to get Rowan out of Vigil's Keep now and then. She will not put aside duty for her own comfort, but if she were to receive official requests for her presence or matters to be discussed in person, or to meet with some important dignitary by request, or similar, she would comply, particularly if her personal secretary and I gently insisted.”

“You want to trick her?” Teagan asked, raising both eyebrows.

“Trick? Ha. No. She's rather too clever for that, don't you think? Even if she does work out that we're doing it deliberately, and she probably will, my hope is that she'll go along with it. Unless she feels she must, she won't take a break, but this could give her the excuse she needs. She likes to be looked after, but she also hates to be looked after.”

“That's a very apt description,” Teagan said with a chuckle.

“I can probably find ways to get her to Amaranthine now and then, at least for an overnight stay, but it would be nice to be able to get her to Denerim or even somewhere else.”

“You certainly seem to have her best interests at heart. She needs that, even if she won't admit it.”

“I watch her back.”

“And what's more, she lets you,” Teagan observed. “I think getting the Warden-Commander to court or elsewhere now and then is something I could coordinate. I expect Anora would want to be in on such a plan. We will try to stage these events so that they are neither transparent nor too taxing. If you would care to write to me from time to time and keep me apprised as to the general mood and schedule at Vigil's Keep, that would be helpful. I wouldn't want to see Rowan called away when in the midst of a truly urgent situation, for example. In short, I think this is an excellent idea and I'd be happy to help.”

“Thank you,” Nathaniel said sincerely. He was quiet for a moment, then took a deep breath. “Teagan, I would like to offer you an apology.”

“I'm sure that is unnecessary,” Teagan objected, but Nathaniel silenced him with a raised hand.

“Please, allow me to speak. Humility is not my greatest virtue, and it will do me some good to do this,” he insisted, turning it around so that Teagan would be favouring him by allowing him to continue. The bann surely knew it was a standard courtly move, but he graciously nodded for Nathaniel to proceed.

“I never believed myself to be a jealous man,” Nathaniel began, “but when it comes to Rowan, I have learned that I can be. I'm not normally bothered by her many admirers, mostly because she pays them no heed and doesn't encourage them, but you, ser, are a different matter. She cares for you, and regards you as a friend. My jealousy was sparked by your and her mutual affection, and added to it that, you're conspicuously charming, good looking, and you have a reputation as an impressive lover. It was all just a little more than I could take, sometimes.”

“Well, I do thank you for the compliments,” Teagan said, “but I assure you, she is devoted to you and you make her happy. I would do nothing to jeopardise her happiness.”

“I know that, which is what makes my jealousy just that much more petty,” Nathaniel sighed. “Sometimes I have trouble getting over myself. You have been a friend to her, and I would hope that continues. Please accept my apology.”

“Apology accepted, though it was unnecessary. I do hope your confession unburdened you, but I assure you, you have been far more cordial to me than many I have to deal with at court, and nothing you said or did troubled me. May I make a confession of my own?” Teagan paused and Nathaniel nodded. “You were correct,” Teagan admitted, “I am envious of you. You and Rowan are, as you have said, very well-suited, true equals. What's more, you can be together, sharing the same duties, the same burdens, the same goals. And, of course, you're very clearly in love with each other. You two are a good match. I can't help but envy you that, but I am glad of it, nonetheless.”

“I... Thank you. Hmmm. So, shall we hug, now?” Nathaniel asked dryly.

“If you like,” Teagan answered with an exaggerated wink and a rather attractive smile. Nathaniel grinned and chuckled.

“I can see why she likes you,” Nathaniel admitted.

“That, ser, is mutual,” replied Teagan. “And now, unless you have anything else for me, I should return my attention to these tedious missives. Her Majesty is determined to make me into a diplomat for some reason.”

“Then, my lord, I shall leave you to it,” Nathaniel said as he got to his feet, nodding his head politely. “We will see you at dinner.”

 


	59. Until We Meet Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Wardens and their entourage finish up their business in Denerim and go back home to Vigil's Keep. 
> 
> Entirely SFW.

Dinner with the queen was much the same as the previous dinners, although the guests were different. Prince Fredeoric Pentaghast of Nevarra was seated to the queen's right hand, and to her left was Fergus Cousland, Teryn of Highever. Rowan sat beside her brother, with Teagan on the other side, insulating her nicely from the other guests, though she was not entirely relieved of the annoyance of having to talk about the archdemon and various aspects of the Blight. She answered with her rehearsed and oft-repeated standard replies, as she always did, and the guests moved on to other topics soon enough.

Nathaniel was seated next to the prince, who flirted with him shamelessly and, Rowan thought, rather artlessly. It must have been clear to the Nevarran that Nathaniel wasn't interested, but that made no difference to Freddy. Nathaniel was charming, he was attentive, but he was not flirtatious, at least with the prince. Instead, he kept shooting suggestive and flirtatious looks at Rowan. He wasn't at all subtle. Rowan thought he might be trying to make a point as to where his preferences and affections lay. Apparently, though, the prince simply enjoyed flirting with his attractive dinner companion. Rowan found it rather amusing.

So did Fergus, who kept making cheeky comments to Rowan, using the low voice and unobtrusive manner that most people who are forced to attend formal dinners develop if they don't want to be bored out of their mind and yet don't want to be disruptive. The Cousland siblings had perfected this art quickly once Rowan had been old enough to start attending formal dinners around the age of thirteen, and they kept each other entertained through many a dull event.

When the meal ended, Rowan sought out Nathaniel immediately, and then invited her brother to come with them to see the Commander's Suite so she might spend a bit more time with him before she left. Given the number of guests who were looking for a son-in-law or a husband, Fergus welcomed the chance to make himself scarce, and the three of them spent a couple of hours engaged in pleasant and enjoyable conversation and playful banter until the teyrn eventually bid them goodnight and farewell and promised to visit Vigil's Keep as soon as he could, and then sneaked out the Grey Warden exit and back to the barracks.

And when he'd gone, the Commander of the Grey and her Lieutenant undressed each other and retired to bed to spend the rest of the night in each others' arms.

 

~*~

 

Given that they would be travelling back to Vigil's Keep with two wagons, it was decided they should acquire some horses. For various reasons of logistics, they left that acquisition until shortly before they were scheduled to leave, and with a recommendation as to a reliable, honest horse seller, Nathaniel and Rowan made the trip to the outskirts of Denerim to see what stock they might acquire.

In the end, they purchased six horses, four Ferelden Forders and two Amaranthine Chargers. They would need to acquire more in time, but the stables at Vigil's Keep weren't in good enough condition for very many horses to be safely and comfortably housed. In time, as the stables were rebuilt and secured, they would get more, but half a dozen was a decent enough start.

The availability of horses would enable them to send a messenger somewhere quickly, and their periodic trips to the city of Amaranthine would be much faster, with the time spent going to or from taking only a morning or an afternoon instead of most of a long day. Improved efficiency made for a good and pragmatic investment. Rowan would also admit that she enjoyed riding and looked forward to being able to take it up again, in her capacity as the arl, if not as a Grey Warden.

The horses were sent to the royal stables to be fed and looked after until the next day, when the Grey Wardens and their entourage would be heading back to Vigil's Keep. If they hadn't been travelling with a new mother and a baby, they could have made it in a day, but it seemed only fair to plan on an overnight stop for their sake. Rowan was also determined that she and Nathaniel would have a room to themselves, even if they had to ride on to some other inn to get one.

On Teagan's advice, Rowan and Nathaniel would leave their formal clothes in the wardrobe of the suite. Rowan decided to also leave the corset and the matching stockings and knickers, along with the dress shoes. This way, they would always have formal clothes available, should they visit court. Rowan was not expecting to be back any time soon, but she wasn't particularly attached to the dress, anyway. She was bringing the necklace and the earrings back to the Keep with her, because she was attached to the necklace, and the earrings matched it, so she may as well. It would be easy enough to bring them along if she had to return to court.

On the day before their departure, Nathaniel and Rowan had made it clear that they would be in the suite all afternoon, and that if anyone had any questions or problems, to feel free to speak up. In the early evening, Jack brought his lady friend, Tilda, to meet them. She turned out to be blonde, blue-eyed, freckled, and somewhat shy, at least in the presence of the Hero of Ferelden.

“So, uh, I'd like to bring Tilda to Vigil's Keep,” Jack said, “if that's all right.”

“I can work in your laundry,” the girl volunteerd. “Or something else on the household staff.”

“You're certainly welcome to come with us. We can always use reliable staff, and there's plenty of room at the Keep. If you can ride a horse, you can do that, or you can ride in one of the wagons, whatever seems best.”

“Thank you, my lady,” the girl answered with the tiniest of smiles as she dropped into a nervous curtsey.

“Have you given notice here at the palace?” Nathaniel asked.

“Oh, yes. I didn't give them much notice, mind you, but I did, ser. That's all sorted.”

Nathaniel nodded. Rowan smiled at the girl and then at the big warrior.

“Thank you, sers,” Jack said with a polite nod.

“That,” Nathaniel said when there was a knock at the door, “would be our dinner.” He got to his feet. “Don't forget, Jack, you're to come with us later when we meet with the queen.”

“Yes, ser. I know. And Evon is practically dancing out of his skin with excitement.”

“I imagine he is,” Nathaniel said with a grin as he opened the door to the servant outside with the food trolley. “See you later, then.”

It was a lovely meal, as one would expect in the royal palace. Really, it was chicken and dumplings, but it was a very posh version of it, with fancy mushrooms and savoury herbs and what smelled like white wine in the gravy. Rowan also had the spiced, honeyed wine she'd enjoyed at the reception, and wondered if she could get the recipe for the drink. The Keep didn't have a cellarmaster, although there was no reason they couldn't or shouldn't.

“Are you looking forward to going home?” Nathaniel asked over the baked custard dessert.

“I am, in fact, although I'm starting to wonder what urgent matters will be waiting for me the second I step into the Keep.”

“It's not always like that, not these days,” Nathaniel pointed out. “I imagine if there was anything urgent going on, we would have heard by now.”

“I suppose that's true,” she conceded. “Well, we should gather our troops, such as they are, and go and see the queen.” It was a strictly informal meeting, so thankfully the clothes they were wearing were fine.

“As you say,” he agreed, and together they gathered the dishes and stacked them on the trolley, which they pushed outside to leave by the door.

Ser Barkley wandered into the courtyard as Nathaniel knocked on the door of the room Sigrun was using, and Nathaniel was only mildly surprised to find Evon was with her. Jack turned up within a minute or two, probably having heard the voices outside.

“Shall we?” Rowan asked. Her mabari trotted over and gave her a doggy grin. “Yes, you can come along. What's more Ferelden than a beautiful, big, clever mabari war dog, hey? Hey? Who's my happy war doggy? You want to see the queen? Do you? Well, all right!”

The parlour where they were to meet the queen was one that was familiar to Rowan, having met with her there before on many occasions. To no one's surprise, Teagan was present, as well, along with a dour-faced man who appeared to be a clerk. Guards were posted unobtrusively by the door. Anora smiled cordially at the little group, including the dog. The setting was casual enough, but it was a royal audience, nonetheless.

“Your Majesty, Bann Teagan,” Rowan said in her most courtly manner, offering a bow of her head. “May I present Sigrun of the Legion of the Dead, formerly of Orzammar. She was instrumental in helping to take the dwarven fortress, Kal'Hirol, from the darkspawn, for which Orzammar was most grateful. She has also been assisting the Lieutenant Commander with the refurbishment of the Vigil's Keep.”

Sigrun bowed from the waist, dwarven style, and kept silent, her eyes huge.

“What interesting tattoos,” Anora said, referring to Sigrun's face. “Carta?”

“Uh, yes, Your Majesty,” Sigrun answered, frowning. “Before I died. I mean, before I joined the Legion of the Dead. Uhmm.”

“The Warden-Commander has told me something of the Legion of the Dead. Not unlike the Grey Wardens, really, except that Grey Wardens don't get a funeral for their Joining and the Legion of the Dead don't take on the taint. But the concept is similar enough, and the sacrifices of the few in order to serve the many is certainly the same. And they both meet in you. How very interesting. Its a pleasure to meet you, Warden Sigrun of the Legion.”

Sigrun nodded. “Thank you.”

Rowan smiled and nodded and the dwarf stepped back, looking relieved.

“Jack Hammersmith,” Rowan said, and Jack seemed mildly surprised that she knew his full name. “He isn't a Grey Warden, but rather a soldier, since both the arling and the Wardens are now seated at Vigil's Keep.”

Jack bowed and said, “Your Majesty.”

“You're the one who is taking away my staff, then. I don't normally keep track of these things, but your movements have been noted since you came with the Hero of Ferelden, you know.”

Jack's face went ashen.

“Oh, don't worry, my good man,” Anora said with a wave of her elegant fingers and a brilliant smile. “I was only teasing. There are plenty of people who would love to work at the palace, and now there's an opening, so it's no concern. You know, the Hero of Ferelden could ask for half of the palace staff for Vigil's Keep and I would send them to her.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Rowan intoned, “but that won't be necessary,” and Anora chuckled.

“And last but not least, we have Evon of Crestwood, also one of our soldiers.”

“I... I... Your Majesty, you're so beautiful in person,” he blurted out and then turned bright red and slapped his hand over his own mouth, his blue eyes as wide as saucers.

“Why, thank you!” Anora returned with a kind smile that looked for all the world like it was genuine. “It has been some time since anyone other than a courtier told me that. It's very nice to hear, and so heartfelt.” Rowan admired, and not for the first time, Anora's grace and style.

“You... you're very welcome, Your Majesty,” Evon managed to say, once he lowered his hand. His face was still flushed crimson as he stepped back, bowing as he did.

“Of course you know Lieutenant Commander Nathaniel Howe and my mabari, Ser Barkley,” Rowan added.

“Indeed I do,” Anora said, looking at the mabari. “Come here my good fellow.”

The dog glanced at Rowan for approval and then trotted up to the monarch of Ferelden and grinned at her in his doggy way, his stub of a tail wiggling. Anora scratched his ears with both hands and the dog made an appropriately appreciative sound, making the queen smile. “I've never had a mabari,” she said. “My father had one, though, when he was a boy.”

Ser Barkley made a noise that sounded sad. Of all the members of Rowan's odd little party of companions, the mabari had been the one who had been most able to form a bond with Loghain. Rowan had heard the sad story of Loghain's mabari, and how she was badly mistreated by the occupying Orlesians. Rowan had heard plenty of stories of how wretchedly the Orlesian occupiers treated Ferelden and its people, and not just from Loghain, but that story really hit her hard. It was no wonder Loghain had hated all things Orlesian, given some of the things he had endured and witnessed. Not that it justified his actions during the Blight, but it did explain a few things, anyway.

“Well,” Anora said, her hand still resting on the head of the big dog, “it was a pleasure to meet you and to have you as guests. Warden-Commander, Lieutenant, I trust we will hear from you with matters relating to the arling, if not the Grey Wardens.”

Anora glanced at Nathaniel and their eyes met, and he gave a small nod. Rowan thought that strange, but she dismissed it for the moment. If it came up again, she might mention it to him, ask about it, but for now, she just let it go.

“When you leave tomorrow,” Bann Teagan began, “Her Majesty and I would like to see you off, with a small company of household knights. I will meet you at the stables.”

“I... is this really necessary?” Rowan protested.

“You can't just sneak away, I'm afraid, not this time,” Teagan answered with a half smile. “You have horses and it will be an opportunity for the people to see both their Hero and their monarch, although Her Majesty will be on the balcony on the corner near the square rather than on the ground. Word is already being spread, so there will be a gathering, I'm sure, though probably not a huge one.”

“Oh,” Rowan said with a sigh. “We've been all over Denerim and not once has anyone flagged me down to gush about how heroic I am. Must we do this?”

Anora arched one fine brow. “Yes, for a number of reasons, some of which are in fulfilment of an agreement.”

Yes, of course. Being seen with Nathaniel, leaving the palace with some sort of pomp and ceremony, being seen in public in the the good graces of the monarch. The queen, in turn, being seen in the good graces of the Hero of Ferelden. It made sense when Rowan thought about it, but, again, her mind really didn't work that way. Not by first thought, anyway.

“Upon reflection,” Rowan said, “I do see. Very well, then, I shall be suitably heroic. I'm afraid Sigrun doesn't ride, so perhaps we shall send her ahead on foot with Tilda and Ser Barkely, and the rest of us will go on horseback and make a production of it, though I do not want a parade or anything of the sort. You haven't arranged a parade, have you?”

Anora smiled broadly. “There is no parade,” she said, “although I cannot imagine what you have against them, especially when they are in your honour. Such humility, and from a Cousland, no less. The world is a surprising place.”

Rowan couldn't resist laughing. “Indeed it is.”

“Until we meet again,” the queen said in dismissal.

To Rowan's relief, the farewell in the morning wasn't too overblown. There was a gathering of the people, there were guards and royal knights and Rowan rode on one of the Ferelden Forders, a spirited silvery grey bay mare. Nathaniel rode at Rowan's flank, handsomely mounted on the magnificent, big, black Amaranthine Charger stallion he'd personally chosen, while the two Vigil's Keep soldiers rode behind, also on Forders, one a dark brown bay, the other a chestnut. The two other horses, a deep grey Charger, and a chestnut Forder, followed along behind on a lead managed by Jack.

Queen Anora stood on her balcony and waved regally, and Bann Teagan waved from the ground. Rowan waved to them and to the people, and the people cheered and were as happy to see their Hero as their hero was to be going home to Amaranthine.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the big blocks of exposition. I usually try to break it up more, but I was trying to get the pacing back under control and this was the best way I could find to do that. If I'd had more of a buffer, I would have gone back and rewritten big sections, but, well, I learned a few things and now I know something more about pacing and getting bogged down in the fluff and smut. I'll still be including fluff and smut, mind you, but I'll try not to let it suck my boots off the way it did for a while there. ;)


	60. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan and Nathaniel return home and get on with the business of running an arling and restoring the Grey Wardens, and they make an emotional pact that only Grey Wardens could make.
> 
> Some nice emotional stuff at the end, and other bits and pieces of story progression (yes! really!). ;) SFW.

Rowan's first order of business was conferring with Mistress Woolsey, Varel, and Garevel on the state of the Keep and its inhabitants. Thankfully, there were no crises or imperatives, and things were generally calm and most issues were well in hand. It did come to her attention that members of the growing guard and soldiery were asking about having a Chantry mother at the Keep. It was normal for a castle of this size to have at least one such person. Highever Castle had Mother Malol to minister to the faithful, and Brother Aldous and several assistants to tutor the young, though Aldous was a scholar first and foremost, and his lessons were of a broader and more general nature than those of Mother Malol.

“Nate,” Rowan said to him as they sat on the bed, going over their respective paperwork, “do you think we could fix up the chapel so it could be used as a proper place of worship?”

“Ah... yes, we could. It's been closed up for years, though, and stripped of anything valuable. The windows are intact, but they're boarded over, and There's just the statue of Andraste and a few plain wooden benches now. Even the tapestries are gone. I take it this is for the benefit of the population of the Keep?”

“Yes. I could go the rest of my life and never set foot in another Chantry or listen to another chanter droning on, but others take comfort from it and would like to have Chantry services, and I feel obliged to provide them with that if they want it. The trick will be in finding a Chantry mother who will suit. We need someone flexible, preferably young, not set in tired, old Chantry ways. We have mages here, and I will not tolerate some bigoted old biddy cackling about how evil mages are. The rest of the Chant... Well, some of it is nice enough. The history is questionable, of course, but some parts of the Chant are poetic, if nothing else. The Maker as portrayed by the Chantry is kind of an arsehole, though, if you ask me.”

“Do you even believe in the Maker?”

“I don't know. I don't disbelieve. If the Maker is anything like the Chantry says, I don't want to know him, I can tell you that much. Think of it: a bunch of Magisters bust into the Golden City and the Maker responds to the intrusion by nearly wiping out humanity and dwarvenkind with hundreds of years of Blight. That doesn't even make sense! Yeah, okay, punish the arrogant Magisters, I could see that. Turn them into heaps of smoking ash or turn them inside out or something, sure. That's what I'd do if I were all powerful as the Maker is supposed to be and someone broke into my stronghold. I would not, however, say, 'Hey, some arrogant mages broke in, oh, I know, I'll just curse the entire world with a terrible wasting sickness and hordes and hordes of mindless darkspawn that periodically rise up to try to wipe out all life on the surface.' It makes no sense.”

“I love how your mind works,” Nathaniel chuckled. “For my part, I haven't really thought about it much. I don't really know the Chant that well, and while we used to have a Chantry mother here, her presence was not very strongly felt. She was here mostly for the soldiers and the staff, and when I got old enough to decide for myself, I never attended any services except for special occasions when I had to, nor did I seek out the guidance of the mother. Honestly, I can't even remember her name.”

“Ours was Mother Malol,” Rowan volunteered. “I knew her all my life. I liked her, and I didn't really mind the services when she gave them, because she had a beautiful voice and her chanting was lovely. She died the night of the massacre, as far as I know. I never came across her body, but it seems impossible that she survived.”

“I'm sorry,” he said, and reached out to put his hand on her leg.

“I know. Thanks. It's all right. I'm coming to terms with it all. It's just taking a long time. I had to put my grief away for a long time, and now it comes in trickles and spurts and I just deal with it as it comes. I'm fine. Anyway, I think I'll write to Leliana. I told you she's working with the Divine now in Val Royeaux, didn't I? I'll see if she has the influence to ask around for an appropriate Mother to serve here. Not an Orlesian, though. The soldiers are all right with the Orlesian cook because of the excellent food, but I don't know how they'd take to an Orlesian Chantry mother.”

The next day, Rowan composed the letter in her own handwriting, and gave it to Varel to make a copy for the records before he sent her original off to Val Royeaux.

A courier service had set up one of their hubs at Vigil's Keep, since the location was ideal for both Denerim and Amaranthine, and Highever was none too far. They were primarily on foot, but their couriers were fast and they had a reputation for being trustworthy. Rowan wondered if, once the stables were repaired, the arling might invest in the business and get them some horses, allowing them to act on behalf of the arling and the Wardens, while still doing their usual business, the same as most of the merchants and craftspeople and businesses at the Keep did. Having a reliable, fast courier service at the Keep would make a lot of things a lot easier. Rowan commented on this to Varel, who agreed and made a note to speak with Mistress Woolsey about an investment.

The next order of business was the initiation of new Grey Wardens. Rowan decided she should revive the tradition of sending potential Grey Wardens to retrieve a vial of darkspawn blood, and she organised them into small parties, with an initiated Warden with each group. As a result, Reve, the Weisshaupt wardens, and Oghren were all away from Vigil's Keep. Rowan had wanted to go, herself, but she had too much to do at the Keep; they'd spent more time in Denerim than originally planned, and there was a great deal that needed her attention.

Nathaniel had offered to take one of the groups of neophyte Wardens on their trek into the Deep Roads, but Rowan preferred for him to stay with her at the Keep, and he had plenty of work to do there, so he remained. Sigrun was occupied with the refurbishment and never had any particular desire to return to the Deep Roads, so she happily remained, as well.

Nathaniel spent his time overseeing the cellar explorations, seeing that Delilah and Albert and their baby were settled in, and making sure the stables and paddocks were secure and safe, now that they had horses. He also spent a lot of time going over the maps of the cellars which had been generated during their absence, and reviewing the notes regarding weakened supports and dangerous cracks or other problems, in order to prioritise the repairs. Once Rowan had informed him of her intention to acquire a Chantry mother, he also put a small crew to work on the restoration of the chapel, and when Delilah commented that they should be working to get the bigger kitchens attached to the barracks in order, he put workers on that, as well.

As it happened, the Warden recruits and their escorts were away far longer than might have been anticipated. The Architect had promised that if he were to live, he would gather the darkspawn as best he could, and the first team that came back, led by Oghren, reported that the Deep Roads were, indeed, strangely empty of darkspawn, and they'd had to travel deep and long to find any at all. Whether this was due to the recent Blight, or to the darkspawn civil war, or the Architect's influence was difficult to say, just as it was difficult to know if this was localised or a worldwide phenomenon. Rowan duly noted it in her monthly report to Weisshaupt, but didn't expect a response on the matter. Weisshaupt were rarely responsive. She was still waiting for them to send her an archivist approved to handle Grey Warden materials.

Nathaniel stood with her as she administered the Joining rituals. She conducted them in small groups upon their return, just as she'd sent them into the Deep Roads in small groups. Some were lost to the Joining, as expected, and Nathaniel shared in her sorrow. He offered to help write the notifications, but they found that none of the fallen had provided any information on family or others to notify. In the end, they had two surviving warriors, three more rogues, and five mages, one of whom was a skilled alchemist and one of whom was a healer, though not a spirit healer as Anders had been. Rowan offered to set up a laboratory for them if they wanted to research, make potions, or whatever it was mages did in laboratories.

And that made her think about the extensive research notes at Soldier's Peak, the old Grey Warden fortress up in the mountains on the Storm Coast. Rowan wasn't sure if it was technically in Amaranthine or Highever, but given how difficult it was to reach unless you knew the way, it hardly mattered. Many of the Drydens were still there, of course, and she knew the way through the tunnels and twisting paths. As far as she was aware, Avernus, the Grey Warden mage, was still alive; certainly she'd had no word that he wasn't. Perhaps it was time to pay him a visit.

That night in their room, Rowan approached Nathaniel with that suggestion, to see what he thought. Naturally, she had to recount the whole story of Soldier's Peak.

“Let me make sure I understand,” Nathaniel said patiently when she'd finished her explanation and proposition. “This Avernus practised blood magic, he summoned a demon army, tortured and killed his fellow Grey Wardens to research their blood, managed to keep himself alive for ages, is still living at Soldier's Peak, and now you want to take some of the mages there to review his research?”

“Yes.”

“And Avernus, who is a Grey Warden, is two hundred years old?”

“More,” Rowan said. “He would have been born in the Steel Age. He served with the Wardens under Sophia Dryden at the beginning of the Storm Age, so he's more like two hundred and forty or fifty years old at a guess. I have no idea how he kept himself alive, but it probably had to do with his research. He's still at it, but I restricted him to ethical research only. No more blood magic or demon summoning, certainly.”

Nathaniel was thoughtfully quiet for a minute or two. “What do you hope to achieve?”

Rowan sighed. She wasn't afraid to die, not in the usual sense of it, but the whole idea of the Calling had always disturbed her greatly. Grey Wardens would slowly fall to the corruption of the darkspawn taint and then, when they couldn't resist the corruption any longer, they went off to the Deep Roads to die fighting, to die honourably and usually alone, before they could turn into a ghoul and have to be put down forcibly. Grey Wardens lived for no more than thirty years past their Joining, and many didn't get that long. It was a waste of training, of manpower, of so many things. If there was some way to get around this, to lengthen the life of a Grey Warden, to cure or heal or postpone the Calling, it would be a boon. Fewer Grey Wardens would have to be recruited, those with skill and dedication could serve longer, and the ritual of going to the Deep Roads to die fighting before the corruption could turn you into a ghoul, however honourably it was regarded by the Wardens, might be avoided entirely.

“I wonder if we might be able to find some way to stop or slow the Calling,” Rowan said eventually. “It's such a waste.”

“I'll go with you, you know.”

“What?”

“You were a Grey Warden during a Blight, you fought the archdemon. You're more likely to hear your Calling before I do. But when you do, I will go with you. You won't have to die alone.”

“No. I couldn't ask that of you.”

“You didn't ask. I made my mind up about this some time ago. You won't talk me out of it. Promise me that you will not go off without saying anything to me. Losing you would break my heart, and I'd be no use to anyone, so you may as well take me with you when you go.”

“You'll need to take over,” she protested. “You'll be Warden-Commander.”

“We'll train up a few of the others to act as tertiary officers, and they can take over, and they'll train their own replacements, just as the Wardens have always done. I've already been thinking about that. Reve is a good choice. Smart, quick on his feet, charismatic, good under pressure. He'd be a fine commander some day.”

“Reve is an excellent choice, but that doesn't change anything.”

“Don't argue with me, Rowan Cousland. My mind is absolutely made up. You need me to watch your back, and I will not be able to carry on without your back to watch. If you feel you must go to your Calling, you must tell me, and we will plan to go together. I would rather die with you than live without you. You should know this.”

“I do know,” she answered softly, refusing to meet his gaze, which she knew would be intense and passionate. “Very well. You can come with me. Or if, for some reason, you hear your Calling first, I will come with you.”

“No, that –”

“That's the deal, Nathaniel Howe,” she said firmly. “We go together, no matter who goes first. I could no more go on without you than you could without me. So do we have a pact?”

Instead of answering, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. His grey eyes were warm and soft when he broke the kiss, though he didn't loosen his grip on her.

“We have a pact,” he said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally dragged them out of Denerim. These two, honestly, they're so into each other it's hard to redirect them. They're always wanting to take a bath or play with bondage or eat, and they just pull me right with them. It's slightly disconcerting when characters take on so much life in your head that they start taking you where they want to go and not in the direction you think they ought... 
> 
> They're still all loved up and will be spending plenty of time being fluffy and/or smutty because that's just how they are, but I've managed to write a decent buffer now and the story should get moving forward more now. Look forward to Nathaniel brooding, learning more about the motivation his father had in the things he did, a few other small but interesting twists, a couple of angsty twists, one quite big twist, and eventually more drama from a source you will be able to guess because the foreshadowing has been anything but subtle. ;)


	61. Summerday (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel takes Rowan to a special place for a picnic. 
> 
> Note that while the first part of the chapter has strong sexual references and nudity, it doesn't actually get highly graphic and NSFW until the second part.

Before Rowan knew it, Summerday was upon them, with its traditional association with merriment and marriage and coming of age. Most of the staff and soldiers were given the day off. Nathaniel, never one to miss an opportunity, arranged for a picnic with Rowan.

“I want to take you to a place that's special to me,” he said as they walked together down the road from the Keep, hand in hand. “I spent a lot of time there in my childhood and youth. It was an escape from... well, everything. It's quiet, solitary, and beautiful. I think you'll like it.”

She was intrigued, to say the least. When they left the main road, he reached out and took her hand, and they continued on in companionable silence through the woods until they reached a small, sheltered clearing by a stream. There was a rocky outcrop along one side, and thick trees on another, and what looked like a thicket of wild blackberry bushes. The sun filtered through the trees in patches and beams, making the water sparkle.

“This really is beautiful,” Rowan said sincerely.

“I've never brought anyone here. You're the only person I've ever wanted to share it with. That ledge is good for protection from the elements,” he said, indicating the rocks, which formed a sort of shallow cave. “I used to sleep here sometimes when I really wanted to stay away.”

“I can see you doing that,” Rowan said. “Taking off to the woods to brood.”

“You and Delilah, always on about me brooding,” he said with mock annoyance as he reached for his pack. He pulled out a blanket and spread it on the ground. There was a blanket in Rowan's pack, too, and they were both carrying elements of their picnic lunch.

“Come on, lie down with me,” he said.

“Fully clothed?” she asked with a smirk as she sat down.

“For the moment,” he answered with a grin of his own. “I won't pretend that I don't have hope that I can persuade you to make love with me here. This spot is quite secluded and difficult to find, and I've never encountered anything here apart from birds and the occasional squirrel or fox. I'm also hoping to get you completely naked. But for right now, just lie with me, please.”

He lay back, his hands behind his head, legs crossed at the ankles. Rowan joined him and they both lay still and quietly, looking up at the play of sunlight on and through the canopy of leaves. Birds sang, the little stream splashing a quiet, merry tune as it flowed over rocks.

“I can see why you love this place,” Rowan said eventually, almost reluctant to breach the quiet. “It's wonderful. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“I want to share everything with you,” he answered.

“So, you used to sleep here?”

“Sometimes.”

“Delilah told me once that you enjoyed sleeping outdoors.”

He chuckled. “So what do you think of her? You two have been spending a fair bit of time together apart from our weekly family dinners, so I assume you've gotten to know each other.”

“I like her very much,” Rowan answered honestly. “I especially like that she's not at all intimidated by me. She's not bothered that I'm the commander or whether I hold the office of arl. She doesn't make a big deal about this Hero of Ferelden thing. She also calls me by my name and she speaks plainly to me, and I very much appreciate that. It's a nice break from all the 'yes, ser' and 'oh, commander' and 'my lady' and so forth.”

“Other than me, I suppose there really isn't anyone else at the Keep who does call you by your name is there? Oghren calls you 'Boss' and everyone else calls you 'Commander' or, as you say, 'ser' or 'my lady'. Even I defer to you as commander, at least in public.”

“But not in private,” she countered in a low, husky voice, turning onto her side to look at him. “I quite like that, too.”

He turned his head and looked at her with a smirk. “You're so much more obedient than I would ever have expected.”

“Hard to be disobedient when you've got my hands tied to the bed posts. Though I could have kicked you in the head if I'd wanted to.”

“And yet you did not, not even when I was teasing you with a feather and making you squirm, and then teasing you in other, more direct ways,” he said, his voice dropping to a low pitch that sent shivers down her spine. “Maker, the way you moan and whimper and arch your back and grind your hips... And, oh, my love, you do beg so very prettily.”

She was more than a little bit aroused now. “Maker, Nate, when you talk like that... How about we get our clothes off? I find myself quite in the mood now.”

“As you wish, of course,” he answered with the sexy smile that always made her stomach flip. She reached out to unbuckle his belt and he grinned at her, and then sat up to unlace his own boots while she did the same. Kneeling up, he reached for her and they pulled at the buckles and straps and pieces of one another's armour and then the clothes underneath.

It had been a long time since Rowan had been completely naked outside with a man. And as they undressed each other, Rowan very deliberately pushed away a memory of making love with Alistair in the forest. It annoyed her that he was still so present in her mind, and maybe in her heart. Alistair was like a thorn in her side, and she had no idea how to remove him.

She put her focus, instead, on the beautiful man with her, the man who was her partner, her friend, her lover, and her equal. She put her attention on how very good he looked with his shirt off, all taut, shapely muscles and broad shoulders and dark chest hair, and she anticipated how much more enjoyable it would be when he was naked, when they were both naked.

He kissed her, hungrily, passionately, and she responded in kind, moaning against his mouth.

“My love,” he said in between kisses, “do try to be quiet, or at least try not to scream, all right? It is quite secluded here, but I don't know how the sound might echo, and the last thing I want is to have some patrol hear a woman screaming and come to investigate and... well, that would be a very amusing story for the gossip mill, I'm sure, that a patrol came across the two of us completely naked and fucking in the woods.”

“We already have a reputation for inappropriately intimate acts in semi-public locations, you know.”

“I'm not too surprised,” he said.

“Apparently, we've been spotted a few times in random locations with our hands all over each other. I don't know exactly what we've been seen doing, but certainly kissing and groping,” she explained as she wriggled out of her breeches and then moved to tug his down, releasing his erection.

“So people know we have sex?” Nathaniel said dryly. “Shocking.”

“Nobody would think otherwise on that count, I'm sure, and I doubt anyone's shocked. It's more that we can't keep it behind closed doors.”

“Mmm, yes,” he said, lying down on the blanket on his side once he'd kicked his pants away. “Did you always have a thing for getting naughty in dark corners, or did I corrupt you?”

“I... kind of already liked that,” she admitted, pressing up next to him and throwing a leg over his. “I mean, sneaking around and kissing and whatever else you could get up to without being caught, you know. I never went anywhere near as far with it as I have with you, though. I'm still amazed by what we did in the royal garden.”

He chuckled and grinned at her. “I'm glad I impressed you.” He reached around and grabbed her arse and pulled her hips close so he could rub his hard cock against her for emphasis.

“Oooh, that's impressing me right now,” she said.

“I can impress you more,” he answered, and leaned in to kiss her, his hands moving on her naked flesh and hers on his.

They took their time pleasing one another, celebrating Summerday in the most ancient and primal of ways. Hands and lips and tongues and limbs, and eventually everything. It really did seem as if they were as one, each a part of the other, separate, and yet joined in some mystical, profound way that defied explanation. Eventually, they had their fill of one another, at least for the time being, and the two of them lay back on the blanket under the trees, both smiling, their hands entwined at their sides.

“Marry me?” Nathaniel eventually asked.

“I knew you couldn't let this day pass without proposing at least once.”

“Is that a yes?”

“I am recklessly happy with you just the way we are,” she answered. “I'm not sure I want to change things.”

He considered that for a moment, then nodded. “I'll ask again some time.”

“I'm sure you will. You're a stubborn man.”

“And a patient one.”

 

~*~

 

Rowan was far more prone to nightmares than Nathaniel was, but for some months, her nightmares had been fewer and farther apart. She said his presence let her sleep better, that he must be watching her back even in their sleep. He found the idea fanciful, but he didn't argue. If being with her helped, he was glad of it.

When, in the middle of a summer night, she awoke with a loud gasp and he with a jerk, both shaken from the same nightmare, they both knew and understood what had happened. For whatever reason, they had fallen into a pattern of sharing their darkspawn nightmares. They didn't even discuss it any more because they knew it would be the same.

He reached out for her in the dark just as she was moving toward him, and they each wrapped around the other for comfort. They lay quietly for a time, holding each other.

Eventually, she turned onto her back and opened her legs in an unspoken but well understood invitation, while she reached down between his legs to caress him. This was their way of dispelling the lingering horrors of the darkspawn and their world, a world which would one day consume them both.

He put a hand on one of her breasts, squeezed gently, then more firmly, rubbing his thumb over her nipple, which stiffened as she murmured her appreciation. He shifted his position and drew her other nipple into his mouth and she moaned softly. He moved his hand between her legs and cupped her there, squeezing, arousing, then letting his fingertips trace the edges of her folds, before he slipped a finger between them stroked the length of her. He moved his fingers back down and slid one inside of her and she gasped, stroking his cock, making him hard. He rubbed her pearl with his thumb and she arched her back with pleasure.

Releasing the nipple he'd had in his mouth, he moved so his hips were between her legs and adjusted his position until he was cradled there. He fumbled a bit in the dark, holding his weight up on one arm while he guided his cock into her, but the moment he did, she groaned and so did he. Even like this, groping in the near dark to chase away the true darkness that was the darkspawn, their coupling was always joyful.

He adjusted his position, weight supported on his arms, and she brought up her legs around his waist, locking them at the ankles, her heels pressed into the small of his back. He started to move inside of her, and her gasps and moans of pleasure blended with his own. She moved her hips in rhythm with his, grinding against him, her hands clutching the muscles in his back, caressing and massaging as she grew more and more frantic beneath him, tossing her head from side to side as her pleasure grew, while he stroked himself in and out of her. She arched her back and gasped his name, _oh, yes, Nate, make me come, yes, yes_ , and he smiled in the dark because he loved pleasuring her, loved it when she came undone, especially since she squeezed him with her legs, with her arms, with every part of her.

He increased his pace and she moaned, not quite descended from the peak of her climax, and he urged her toward another and let himself go with her. As as she came again, he was only a few strokes behind her, thrusting fast and hard and deep and, _oh, Rowan, I love you, yes_.

When they were finished, he moved to his side and she snuggled up against him, her back to his chest, and he put his arm around her protectively. It wasn't long before they were both sleeping again, darkspawn and blight banished once again to the darkness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading, would you drop me a comment? It's hard to tell by just page views (though I appreciate the kudos, too). I'm going to finish this regardless, but it would be nice to know if anyone is actually following still. 
> 
> Side note: more custom artwork on the way. ;)


	62. Personnel Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Delilah has a suggestion and Nathaniel has a bit of a snit. 
> 
> SFW, though it gets a little steamy at the end.

Rowan was standing in the master suite, watching as the workers pulled down the old drapes. It was a big and impressive suite, situated on the second floor above the main hall, with great windows and glass doors that led to the small balcony that overlooked the main courtyard. There was a reception room where she could meet with her staff or her Wardens, enough room for desks for both herself and Nathaniel, plus a table so they could eat in their room without having to sit on the bed or balance plates on their laps. There was a privy, of course. The dressing room was a chamber all its own, with a bathroom off of it. The wardrobe would house the new cedar wardrobes, shoe and boot stands, cedar chests, stools, and armour stands. The tall triple mirror would remain, and she had no doubt it would occasionally get use in more prurient pursuits.

The bed, which normally stood in an alcove where it was partially hidden from most positions in the front part of the chamber, had been taken apart and removed in pieces. Carpenters were working on assembling the new one, along with matching night stands. Nathaniel had a hand in the design of the bed. It would be very solid, heavy, and polished dark wood with a tall canopy and curtains for warmth as well as privacy, since they intended to use the suite as an informal office. He'd also, much to Rowan's surprise, voiced an opinion on the room's colour scheme, choosing blue and grey, the colours of the Wardens. Rowan and Sigrun had seen to it that the greys were more of a silvery hue, and the blue was vibrant.

Delilah, with her son on her hip in a sling, stood with Rowan and watched the workers. She'd had some strong words to say about the suite, and what she suspected her father got up to in it. She more or less confirmed that he'd been having an affair with the late Bann Esmerelle, and she implied but would not say outright that there were plenty of other other unsavoury goings-on. All Delilah would really say was that her father had a dark side and he'd been indulging it more and more. Rowan tried not to think about it, and so she never asked for details.

“Rowan,” Delilah began, “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Something to do with the suite?”

“No, to do with the household. I've been observing for some time now, and I'm sorry to say, the household is not well-managed. I don't have anything against your housekeeper, but from what I've been able to gather, Mistress Katey was rather hastily promoted from amongst the existing staff, and she really hasn't any training in the management of a large household such as this.”

“Do you have any suggestions?” Rowan asked, knowing full well that Delilah did, or she wouldn't have brought it up.

“Yes. You need a housekeeper who knows how to manage an estate of this size and prestige.”

“You're right, of course,” Rowan agreed. She had been raised in a similar estate. They had a housekeeper, who had an assistant, and there was a seneschal and an accountant and a cellarmaster, and various other household appointees, all of them necessary for the smooth management of such a large household.

“I'd like to apply for the position,” Delilah announced.

“You?”

“Why not me?”

“I suppose there's no reason why not, really,” Rowan said. “We would, of course, have to talk to Mistress Katey, and to Captain Garevel, since the housekeeper reports to him.”

“I've already spoken to both of them, in fact. Mistress Katey knows she's out of her depth and would be happy to manage one of the household divisions and leave the oversight to someone else. Garevel doesn't care who the housekeeper is, so long as they get the job done properly. And I spoke to Mistress Woolsey, as well, who is quite willing to turn over the household account keeping to me, provided I turn in the usual book keeping reports as one would expect.”

Rowan laughed. “You've got this all worked out already, don't you?”

“Of course,” Delilah answered with a smile that Rowan thought was just a little smug. “I wouldn't have come to you if I wasn't prepared. Shall I bring it up at dinner tonight?”

The upstairs parlour that had become known as the Commander's dining room was among the first to be refurbished, receiving new tapestries and carpets, new curtains, and new cushions for the furniture. Rowan and Nathaniel still took meals there during the day, but they also started sharing at least one evening meal a week with Delilah, Albert, and Dane. Rowan very much enjoyed these dinners, happy to have family around her.

Dane was not old enough to sit in a high chair at the table, but one of the Keep's carpenters had made a baby seat for him, one in which he partly reclined and partly sat, supported by the sides and back of the cradle seat. It had rockers on the bottom and he could make it move with vigorous kicks and arm waving, or an adult could rock it with a foot. He didn't mind sitting on the floor while they ate, sucking on on his fingers and staring at the colourful tapestries or at his parents. If Ser Barkley was present, Dane was thrilled to drool and gurgle to the mabari, who, for a war dog, was surprisingly gentle and extremely patient with the little human that the dog seemed to regard as some kind of strange puppy.

When Delilah brought up the subject of the Keep's housekeeper, Nathaniel was attentive and open until she put herself up as a candidate. His entire demeanour changed, his countenance turning dark as he narrowed his eyes and frowned, his back going stiff.

“Delilah is uniquely qualified for the position,” Rowan pointed out, “and she's as trustworthy as we could hope to find for such a sensitive position.”

Nathaniel shot Rowan a frown and then turned to his sister. “Delilah, no. This is beneath you,” he said, his voice low.

“What do you mean? Are you saying that working honourably is beneath me?” Delilah shot back.

“You know perfectly well what I mean,” he countered with a scowl.

“No, I'm not sure I do. Things have changed, Nathaniel, you need to accept that. What Father did –”

“I know what he did!” Nathaniel shouted, banging his fist on the table so hard the cutlery rattled, and startling the baby, who had apparently been drifting off to sleep, but who now screwed up his little face and commenced crying.

“Now look what you've done,” Delilah scolded her brother, scooping her son up in her arms and putting him against her shoulder. “Don't worry, little man, Uncle Nate is just having trouble getting over himself. He'll settle down after he's had a good brood.”

Nathaniel narrowed his eyes and he opened his mouth and then shut it again. He tossed his napkin on the table and stood up, announcing brusquely, “I've lost my appetite. Rowan, I'll see you later. You don't need to wait up for me.”

“Where are you going?” she asked sharply.

He paused and took a deep breath and then put a hand on her shoulder, his face softening somewhat. “Don't worry, I won't be leaving the Keep. I just need to be alone to think.”

“You mean brood,” Delilah corrected.

“Have it your way,” he answered back as he strode from the room.

“Well,” Rowan said, sighing heavily. “I don't know what that was about.”

Rowan was troubled by his reaction. He was a passionate man with deep emotions, but he was normally inclined to keep himself in check, to maintain a calm or passive exterior, no matter what was raging inside. When his control slipped, it was usually because he was profoundly upset and deeply angered by something. Rowan didn't think this was really about Delilah taking over as housekeeper; to him, it must represent something deeper.

Albert Dryden had been silent throughout the exchange. He had said before that he was a man from a big family, and he knew better than to come between siblings. Rowan thought this wise, especially when it was between Albert's strong-willed, plain-speaking wife and her stubborn, fierce, and often moody brother.

“I fear Nathaniel feels as though he's let me down,” Delilah said sadly. “I know he is aware that I'm happy with my life, but in his mind, there is still a lost legacy that he thinks I should be entitled to, even though I don't want it. He seems to be all right with his own lot, at least.”

“The Grey Wardens suit him,” Rowan agreed. “He also confessed to me that he never really wanted or expected to be arl. He felt like your father favoured your brother, so Nathaniel expected he'd take charge of Amaranthine's garrison eventually and spend his days as a commander while your younger brother took the title.”

“My father didn't really favour Thomas,” Delilah said. “Well, he did in some ways, I suppose. Thomas was weak, and my father could manipulate him far more easily than he ever could Nathaniel. I have always suspected that's why he sent Nathaniel away. Nathaniel was too stubborn and too forthright and couldn't be manipulated.”

Rowan nodded thoughtfully. “Possibly,” she said as she turned her goblet in her fingers, watching the way the light played on the engraved stem.

“I have said this before,” Delilah said firmly, “but I am glad to be rid of the burden of nobility and of being a Howe. I will, however, happily and honourably serve the Grey Wardens and the arling of Amaranthine if you'll let me.”

“Thank you, I know you will. You're welcome to the position of housekeeper, of course,” Rowan replied. “And I'm sure Nathaniel will accept it in time.”

“Nathaniel just needs to brood about it until he comes to terms with whatever it is about it that's bothering him,” Delilah answered quietly, patting her son on the back as she gently swayed side to side on her chair. “He's always been that way.”

“I haven't seem him like this in a long time,” Rowan answered with a sigh and a shake of her head. Not since after the battle with the broodmother where she'd been so badly injured. Every other outburst since then had been a fit of pique that he got over quickly enough.

“It troubles me to see him struggle like this,” Delilah admitted, “but I'm glad that you understand him as well as you do. He will find his way through it. He always does. Maybe you can help, or not, but either way, be there for him when he wants to talk, and he will. And then distract him. I used to tell him stories or get him to plait my hair.”

 

~*~

 

When Nathaniel entered their chamber, Rowan was dozing, propped up in the bed with pillows at her back, a book open on her lap. Unusually, she was wearing a linen night shift. It was early summer, but the thick, stone walls of the Keep still meant it was cool at night in their room, so Nathaniel took up the poker to stir the fire before he put in another small log, banking it for the night.

“There's food on the desk,” she said as he put the poker back in the stand. “Fruit, cheese, bread, and some cold ham. You didn't have much dinner. Eat.”

“I'm sorry I woke you,” he said as he sat down to take his boots off. He set them aside and wandered over to the platter, which he picked up and carried back to the bed.

“It's fine. I wouldn't have slept long sitting up in bed, anyway.”

He sat down on top of the covers and put the platter between them after taking a ripe plum. When he'd finished that, he tossed the pit onto the plate and put some ham and cheese between the thin slices of bread, and he enjoyed it so much he made another. One more plum and he felt satisfied enough to stop, though he could have eaten the entire platter of food by himself, and he might have in other circumstances.

“Drink?” Rowan asked as she put her own plum pit on the platter. Nathaniel nodded. She handed him the skin she kept by her bedside and he took a draught of water before wiping his mouth and handing it back to her.

“Finished?” he asked, indicating the food, and she nodded. There was still some fruit left, but the bread, the ham, and the cheese were gone. He got up and put the platter back on the desk then unceremoniously got himself undressed. He carelessly tugged the tie out of his hair before crawling into bed with Rowan while she put out the lamp on her night stand, having long since put her book aside. He reached for her and she nestled down between the sheets beside him, her back to his chest.

“Where have you been?” she asked softly.

“It's kind of strange,” he admitted. “I went to the dungeon and sat in the cell, the one where I was being held when you took over at the Keep.” He paused, and pulled her a little closer to his chest. “And I suppose I should point out that I told you not to wait for me.”

“You're not the boss of me,” she retorted gently. “I was concerned. How are you?”

He sighed. “I... my reaction was ridiculous. I will have to apologise to Delilah, and to Albert, too, while I'm at it. And to you. I'm sorry I was so churlish.”

“Everyone understood. Even Dane fell asleep quickly. He cried mostly because he was tired, I think, though you did startle him.”

Nathaniel groaned. “Still, I made my infant nephew cry with my outburst. Maker.”

Rowan stroked the hair on the arm he had around her. “Did you work through it, anyway?” she asked.

“I think so. I have always been very protective of Delilah, as you know. She was born a lady, and she should be cosseted and waited upon and looked after. I do know that she has, out of necessity, worked to survive, and I do respect that. When she was in Amaranthine during the war, she slept in the Chantry like a refugee and took whatever work she could find. I don't even know what sort of things she did, but I can imagine it was menial. My sister is far braver than I would have ever guessed, and I do honour that, but... some part of me just still thinks of her as a lady, and a young one, at that. The thought of her in a service position in what was our family's ancestral home... My response was... involuntary and visceral. I can accept the consequences for me of my father's dishonour well enough now, but for Delilah...”

“I know it's been hard for you to come to peace with it all,” Rowan said quietly.

“And you, my love,” he continued. “You're of such high noble birth that you're a princess in all but name. My family were vassals to yours, and from what I hear, at least half the bannorn wanted to make your father king instead of confirming Cailan. And yet, here you are, your father and almost all of your family dead, and you slowly dying of the darkspawn taint. You lost everyone you cared for in a massacre, you fought an archdemon, you sleep in tents, relieve yourself in the woods, spend weeks in the muck of the Deep Roads. You deal with utter horrors and shoulder burdens that never should have been yours. It's all because of my father.”

She sighed deeply, and they were quiet for a time. He didn't know what that sigh had meant, or what she was feeling, but she was still relaxed, so he hoped it wasn't something terrible. Eventually, she broke the silence.

“I can't argue against you. I can tell you, though, that I accept my fate. There are plenty of things about being a Grey Warden that I don't care for much, that's true enough, but a Grey Warden is what I am. I'm good at it. And I don't mind being a Grey Warden as much as I once did. You make my life so much better.”

Maker, the woman knew how to touch his heart. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, and then another on a slightly different spot.

“Delilah is content with her fate, too,” Rowan continued. “She loves Albert, and you know that. She doesn't regret the loss of her noble obligations. Rather the contrary, no matter what you think she 'should' have had or 'could' have been. So I suppose this is really about your... expectations, isn't it?”

“It always is,” he admitted with a deep sigh. “Delilah is right when she says I need to get over myself.”

“You'll get it sorted out,” Rowan said warmly. “I have complete confidence in you.”

“I know you do. And while I appreciate it, the fear of letting you down can be considerable.”

“You've never let me down. And you've never let Delilah down. You were as much a victim of circumstance as the rest of us. You need to stop trying to save the world, trust me.”

“Oh, so says the woman who did save the world,” he said with a chuckle.

“I only did what I could, and what had to be done. Never forget that. Just do what you can, and what you must, and trust Fate to fill in the blanks. That will get you through anything.” She paused, and then turned over and smiled at him. “And now, if you'll allow it, I think you could do with some distraction.”

“What did you have in mind?” he asked.

“Do you want me to tell you a story?” she asked mischievously.

“Is it a dirty story like the ones in those Orlesian quarterly publications you enjoy?”

“Oh, there's an idea,” she answered in a sultry voice. “He was a brooding Grey Warden archer of noble birth, and she was his commander –”

He kissed her, cutting her off. She chuckled and deepened the kiss, pressing her body to his and throwing her leg over his own. He worked his leg between hers and and slipped his hand under her shift to cup her naked bottom as he stroked her tongue with his own. She tugged at her shift and he helped her work if off over her head, only to be thrown somewhere on the floor.

It wasn't long before Nathaniel did find himself entirely distracted from his guilt and his sorrow and his brooding by the glorious, strong, beautiful woman he adored and who loved him in return.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another mid-week posting, yay. :)


	63. Delilah Takes Charge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Delilah shows herself to be a most capable housekeer and she has a heart to heart with her brother.

Mistress Delilah Dryden proved to be a diligent and extremely proficient housekeeper. Not only did she have the household working much more efficiently, she had gotten Nathaniel and his builders to look at the bath house and see to repairing it, which raised morale considerably. She also successfully argued that the second kitchen, the one attached to the barracks and the soldiers' dining hall, needed to be opened, and she set about finding a second cook and additional kitchen staff.

Under Delilah's guidance, the pantries were better stocked. Staff was acquired to help manage farming, gardening, and other food production. She shuffled the existing staff, putting people into jobs for which they were suited, arranged the schedules for fairness and productivity, promoted a few people and set up training sessions for those who required it. She also took a personal interest in restoring the Keep's long-neglected ornamental gardens.

Delilah sent word to Denerim and Amaranthine looking for additional staff, and particularly a brewer and a cellarmaster. She ended up hiring one person to fulfil both roles, a former bar maid from Redcliffe named Bella who had gone to Denerim with the help of the Hero of Ferelden, looking for work and eager to learn the trade of a brewer. The pretty redheaded woman had put her time in Denerim to good use, for she had excellent knowledge of wines and various other potables, and she did know a fair bit about brewing various styles of ale and beer. Bella, being relatively young, unattached, and an attractive redhead, also immediately drew admiring attention from the staff and soldiers of the Keep, and the Commander was happy to make her reacquaintance and to have a trusted person in charge of the potables.

Nathaniel made peace with himself where Delilah was concerned. He could not fail to see that she was thriving in the position of housekeeper and that Vigil's Keep was better for it. Both Garevel and Mistress Woolsey sang Delilah's praises, the staff seemed happy with the new arrangement, and Albert was certainly not bothered by his wife taking on the appointment. Apart from his lingering feelings that it shouldn't have had to be this way, Nathaniel had to admit it was a good thing for Delilah and the Grey Wardens, and probably for Amaranthine, and therefore a good thing for Ferelden in the long run.

While Sigrun worked with a small team to refurbish the inside of the Keep, Rowan started sorting through the old arl's study in earnest, intending to make it into her official office. She convinced Varel to help, as it was light work and they could chat as they did it, with Ser Barkley keeping them company. They started by going through the many books, sorting them into crates. Some would go to the general library which was currently under refurbishment, some would be sold or donated. Albert Dryden had contacts who could make use of anything, including old books with little to no value, even if it meant pulping them.

Nathaniel and Rowan, meanwhile, had also been working to promote camaraderie amongst the Grey Wardens and soldiers. Both of them understood the importance of morale, and together with Garevel and some input from Varel, they staged a number of events, hunting/fishing parties, in-house tournaments, and recreations for both the Wardens and the soldiers; some activities were mixed, and some were for one or the other group only. It seemed to be having a positive effect, and Rowan thought perhaps it might be time to bring in her plan to have soldiers accompany Grey Wardens to the entrance of the Deep Roads and camp there while the Wardens were underground, acting as an emergency backup and to have supplies and other help available if needed. With the Deep Roads as clear as they seemed to be lately, Wardens were away for a long time. Having a camp with friendly faces and a hot meal waiting when you emerged from the Deep Roads could only be a good thing, and if the Wardens weren't back by a reasonable time, the soldiers could notify the Keep that there was a problem.

Rowan and Nathaniel also regularly took part in games of Wicked Grace or Diamondback, and Rowan ended up telling a lot of stories. Nathaniel also had a few worth recounting, such as dancing with the queen, some tales from his days as a tournament competitor and sometimes champion, and of course, the story of his romance and Rowan, which was, as he told it, slightly less dramatic and a little less romantic than the popular tavern tales, but it was still a favourite, especially when Rowan interjected to correct him or embellish something, working with him as a team and sounding for all the world like a long-married couple.

They also installed a couple of dart boards, and Nathaniel proved to be the one to beat with that, mostly because his high dexterity and archer's eye translated well to the throwing of darts. It became a bit of an ongoing dare to challenge the Lieutenant Commander to a game of darts. So far, the only one who could hope to win on anything like a regular basis was Reve, the rogue everyone knew was being groomed for a command position.

Nathaniel had taken on the training of Reve as a personal project. There wasn't a great deal to know about being a Grey Warden, really. Find darkspawn, kill them, report anything unusual or potentially useful, make maps, repeat indefinitely. _In peace, vigilance._ In the case of a Blight, which would become evident by way of the nightmares and, if you were senior enough or sensitive enough, by “listening” to the archdemon and the horde, you gathered the biggest army you could using the ancient conventions and treaties, you mustered as many Grey Wardens as possible, and you sought out the archdemon and killed it, knowing that the death blow would take the life and the soul of the Warden who struck it, but it would stop the archdemon and the horde would scatter. _In war, victory, in death, sacrifice._

The arling, on the other hand, was another matter. There were politics involved in that, and court judgements, and a whole host of other concerns, such as collecting taxes as well as paying taxes to the Crown. To Rowan and Nathaniel, it was all fairly standard and part of their upbringing and education, but Reve was not born into nobility as they were, and had received no such training. Nathaniel found that with the help of Rowan, Garevel, Varel, and, surprisingly, Delilah, Reve was catching on very quickly. He asked intelligent questions, he repeated back what he thought he understood to make sure he'd gotten it right. Nathaniel was deeply impressed, and pleased with his decision to take Reve under his wing. It wouldn't be long before Nathaniel felt comfortable leaving the Keep and all of its business in Reve's hands, at least for brief periods. Varel, Garevel, and Delilah would be able to provide any support the younger man needed.

And this was what Nathaniel planned to write to Teagan regarding the state of things at the Keep, in case the queen had need for the Hero of Ferelden's presence at some point in the not too distant future, but he would recommend that they try try to keep it to not more than a few days. By horse, they could be in Denerim in a day, if they rode straight through and only stopped for a meal and to answer the call of nature, and so a week away from the Keep would be entirely possible without too much fuss.

Summer pressed on, and the renovations to the Keep progressed. The repaired bath house was proving to be popular and very much appreciated. Nathaniel decided it was time to get some of the masons working on shoring up the points in the cellars that had been identified as most needing immediate reinforcement or repair.

And the master suite was nearly ready. Nathaniel had plans for the first night they spent there, but for that, he had to confide in his sister.

“Delilah,” Nathaniel said, ambling into the front room of the cottage Delilah and Albert lived in. Delilah, like Rowan, kept an open door policy.

“Nathaniel,” she answered with a smile, looking up from the accounts she'd been reviewing. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Baby Dane gurgled and cooed in the wooden rocker cradle, kicking his little feet with great joy and abandon. Nathaniel smiled at the baby, who froze, stared at his uncle for a moment, and then broke out into an enormous, toothless grin and a squeal. Nathaniel had never been much for infants, but for Dane, he made an exception. Nathaniel still declined all invitations to hold the baby, but he felt sure that when the boy was old enough to manage a bow or hold a dagger, Uncle Nate would be in a position to teach him how to use it, and to talk to him about, well, things that uncles talked to nephews about, presumably. He'd work it out when they got there.

Nathaniel took a seat and smiled at his sister. “I need your help, Dee. You know the master suite will be finished shortly. I want to make our first night in it special.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I would like to make it romantic. I thought we'd start with a nice private dinner in the suite. And could we do something special with the bed sheets? Like... sprinkle the bed with rose petals or something?”

Delilah chuckled. “If you want something special with the sheets, I'd say a scented powder might do the trick. That's how it's usually done.”

“Scented powder?” he echoed. “We have some, actually. Lavender and also rose. Rowan likes to use it after a bath, and she's gotten me in the habit, as well.”

“That's more than I needed to know,” Delilah said dryly, a hint of amusement in her voice. “I have some scented powders in the housekeeping supplies, specifically intended to be used in bed linens and a few other kinds of laundry. We could also put a bit of lavender oil on the underside of the pillows. Just a drop or two will do the trick.”

“How do you know these things?” he asked with a laugh.

“I worked at The Hornpipe when I was in Amaranthine during the war,” Delilah answered.

“You what?!” he shouted, and Dane screwed up his face as if he was going to start crying, making Nathaniel sit still and pinch the bridge of his nose in an effort to calm down. “Sorry. Please, just tell me you weren't one of the prostitutes.”

“No, of course not,” Delilah answered with a laugh. “I was on the housekeeping staff. A chambermaid.”

“That's a relief,” he said with a sigh. He had made peace with his sister, who he had always tried to shelter and protect, working for a living, and he didn't especially have anything against prostitutes, but he didn't think he would be able to come to terms with it if his little sister had been one. Chamber maid in a brothel he could accept, though. “At least that particular establishment was diligent about their protection of the staff, as I recall.”

“How do _you_ know these things?” Delilah asked him, arching one brow, though Nathaniel suspected she knew perfectly well what the answer was.

“I visited that establishment on occasion,” he answered. “In fact the first time was when Father took me there for my sixteenth birthday to make sure I knew how to beget heirs.”

Delilah gave a snort of disgust. “He didn't stand around watching to make sure you got it right, did he? Criticising your every move and complaining about your technique?”

Nathaniel barked a laugh. “Thankfully, no, though now that you mention it, I'm slightly surprised he didn't. Joke was on him, though, because by the time I was sixteen, I was already well acquainted with such matters.”

“I know. You started far too young, if you ask me. Oh, don't worry, Nathaniel,” Delilah said with a wave of her hand when she saw the startled expression on his face. “I know about your former habits and tendencies, but at least you didn't have a wife and children at home while you were out sowing your seed to the winds, and you've gotten over it now. You know, Thomas tried to be a seducer, but he wasn't very good at it, so he stuck with the excessive drinking, especially after he came back from Highever Castle with a broken nose that one time.”

Nathaniel scowled. “I heard about that. I assume groping a woman against her will was Thomas' idea of seduction. Thomas must have been drunk or a fool or both to think he could pull that on Rowan Cousland, of all people.”

Delilah sighed sadly. “Truth be told, I think Father probably put him up to it. I believe he was going to try to force an engagement, though I don't know how he thought that would work. Given the way Father ranted about Thomas being weak and unable to take what he wanted, I think it's safe to say Father was behind it.”

Nathaniel felt his lip curl in disgust and knew he was scowling. The more he knew of his father, the more he despised him, and it was becoming a very bitter thing.

“Thomas was all too easily influenced by our father and the household soldiers and knights, who were given free reign to...” Delilah shut her mouth tightly, lips pursed.

She'd mentioned things like this before, but was never inclined to go into detail. Now and then she'd say something, and it didn't take long for Nathaniel to understand the situation under his father's command, nor why their father had practically cloistered Delilah away in what amounted to her own household in one of the wings, with her own staff and trusted bodyguards and, as near as Nathaniel could tell, strict and very clear orders that she and her personal servants were off limits, probably upon pain of death.

Everyone else in the Keep, though... It turned Nathaniel's stomach more than a little. His father had not always been like that. Yes, he'd always had a mean streak, that was certainly true, and he'd had a wandering eye for as long as Nathaniel could remember. But when their mother had been alive, their father had at least kept his extramarital activities reasonably discreet, and he had made the effort to uphold some semblance of dignity and honour in his household.

“Hello!” Delilah called out, waving her hand in front of Nathaniel and rousing him from his brooding thoughts. “Where did you go?”

“No where good.”

Delilah nodded. “You will come to terms with it all, Nathaniel. I was here to see it all unfold, so it didn't come as a shock the way it did for you. Now you're having to put together all the pieces and see the whole picture for the first time and it's not pretty, is it? But you will come to terms with it. Your efforts for the arling and the Grey Wardens will give you purpose and direction, and Rowan will comfort you and help you find your way out of it when you get lost in your own dark thoughts.”

Nathaniel looked at Delilah and gave her a half smile. “When did my little sister become so wise?”

She shrugged. “You distracted yourself with women and martial skills. Rowan got through on stubborn determination and her sense of duty. Thomas, poor soul, regularly drank himself into a state where he just could not care less and then he'd pass out completely. I learned to distance myself from everything and to be philosophical. We all do what we must to survive, Nathaniel. If I'm wise, it's because I had to be.”

Nathaniel regarded her thoughtfully. “Thanks, Dee,” he said eventually. “I'm grateful that you're well and happy. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she answered with a smile that took him back years and reminded him of the little girl to whom he used to tell stories and whose hair he used to plait. “And now,” said the woman that little girl had become, “if you don't mind, I have work to do. I'd like to get these accounts to Mistress Woolsey this evening.”

“As you like,” he answered. “My regards to Albert.” The baby had fallen asleep, so Nathaniel just cast a smile in the little one's direction and headed out of the cottage, marvelling that even in the midst of such an unpleasant, oppressive place as his father's household, his sister could grow up strong and sensible and safe.

Perhaps the Maker did heed the concerns of older brothers.

 


	64. All the Gossip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel receives a surprise, Delilah offers words of wisdom, and Rowan and Nathaniel spend their first night in the remodelled master suite. 
> 
> Somewhat surprisingly, SFW, though there are some sexual references because of course there are. 
> 
> Also ART by [phoquinart](https://phoqingart.tumblr.com/)!

Nathaniel was on the archery field, supervising and instructing some of the soldiers, on one warm summer afternoon. The scout who came to fetch him said there was a small company of dwarves looking for him. He frowned, wondering what it was about, but took his leave and went to meet them.

They were from Denerim. One was a courier, the other three were armed guards. They asked him questions until they were satisfied that he was the Lieutenant Commander of the Grey, then handed over a small package and a wax-sealed letter before asking for the customary overnight accommodation before they started their journey back to Denerim. Nathaniel escorted them into the hall and quickly sent someone to find his sister to see to their guests.

If there was one thing Vigil's Keep was good for, it was finding places to have a quiet moment, and once Delilah was on the job, Nathaniel slipped into a currently unused chamber off the main hall that usually functioned as a cloak room when there was some event on.

The letter was written in Common, in a graceful, block-style script that reminded Nathaniel strangely of dwarven runes.

 _To the Lieutenant Commander of the Grey_  
_From Master Korran of Denerim (as written by his assistant, Helga)_

_Enclosed please find the ring crafted for the Hero of Ferelden. You will also find a second ring, silverite and without stones, sized for you based on Master Korran's assessment of your hands while you were in the shop. You should find that the ring fits. If it doesn't, bring the ring to Master Korran's shop and he will resize it for you on the spot, but he is confident this will not be necessary._

_The Master felt, as he worked the metal, that a token of love and affection should have a second ring, a mate. The the pair of rings were lyrium-folded and forged at the same time, and something rare happened, and there is a resonance between the two rings. The Master then used further enchantments to enhance the pairing. If you wear one and the Hero wears the other, there should be a kind of joining, you might say. It is unpredictable as to how it will work and in what ways, because much depends on the two people wearing the paired rings, but you will almost certainly both experience an enhanced awareness of each other in subtle or not so subtle ways, be it emotional, shared thoughts, or other sensations. An interesting thing about this effect is that physical distance has no effect. Orzammar dwarves say this is due to the influence of the Stone. We surfacers think it's more likely something to do with the Fade, but either way it seems to be at least partly due to the lyrium which is folded into the metal during the forging. As this kind of resonance is not common, it hasn't been studied much, so no one really knows exactly how it works, only that it does._

_Master Korran is well pleased with the pair, and has enchanted them with luck, speed, healing, and protection. He asks only that you give his name as the craftsman, and that you wear the rings with love and affection, just as we hold the Hero of Ferelden in our highest esteem. Many thanks for allowing Master Korran to craft these rings. They are his finest work to date._

_Helga, on behalf of Master Korran of Denerim_

Nathaniel put the letter aside and carefully unwrapped the package to find a small, nicely carved and polished wooden box. Inside it was a carefully folded bundle of black velvet. He took it out and put the box aside, then delicately unfolded the fabric, revealing first one ring and then the other. He smiled as he held up the one intended for Rowan. It was stunningly beautiful and finer than any jewel Nathaniel had ever seen. The silverite was highly polished, with five faceted, square diamonds of what appeared to be exceptional quality set into a channel. Inside the ring was a series of tiny, perfectly etched dwarven runes. He put put the ring carefully back in the the box for the moment and then examined the companion ring, his ring.

It was, of course, the same polished silverite, with the same delicately etched runes inside the band, but there no stones, but it was as wide as Rowan's. He held up the ring and wondered if it really would fit him. Slipping it on to his finger, he had to grin. Master Korran had a very good eye, it would seem. The ring fit him perfectly.

[ ](http://imgur.com/mIcCng7)

Nathaniel was overwhelmed with gratitude and appreciation. He had never expected to have any such treasure as this, just as he'd never expected to have a treasure such as Rowan. He smiled and pulled his ring off, then folded it back up in the velvet, Rowan's on top but separated by fabric, just as they had been packaged. He put the bundle into the box, folded the letter from Helga, and smiled the entire time he made his way upstairs to put them away in the personal lockbox had for things that were precious to him.

He intended, of course, to present the rings as a betrothal gift, or possibly a wedding gift, assuming he ever persuaded Rowan to say yes to marriage, but if it came to the point that he thought she never would, he'd give the ring to her for Satinalia or Summerday or find some other excuse. No matter what, he was going to get a ring on her finger. The thought made him smile even more.

  
~*~

 

“Oh! Flowers!” Rowan said with surprise as she stepped into the master suite. Several vases of different bouquets graced the master suite, some fragrant wildflowers and herbs from the kitchen garden, some blossoms from the Keep's ornamental gardens. The scent was subtle, but noticeable.

The table was also beautifully set with silver cutlery and silver candlesticks and the best of the household dishes, all matched and perfectly arranged.

“Did you do this?” Rowan asked, turning to Nathaniel with a smile.

“I spoke to Delilah about it, but she arranged all of it,” he admitted. “I wanted our first night in the suite to be memorable and romantic.”

Rowan smiled and leaned over a bouquet of flowers to inhale the fragrance. Nathaniel smiled as he watched her. It was always a delight to catch her with her guard down. She appreciated little gestures like flowers or breakfast or some small, inconsequential gift, and he loved the glimpses of her sweeter, softer side, so rarely seen.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Nathaniel said, putting a hand on her lower back. She turned into his arms and he pulled her close and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his back and returned the kiss, sighing with pleasure as she did. He nibbled her lower lip with his teeth as she slid a hand down his back to caress his arse, and he was just starting to put his hand under her tunic when there was a sharp knock at the door, which was standing open, along with the sound of someone loudly clearing their throat.

Nathaniel sighed and turned, one arm still around Rowan, expecting to see a guard or some member of the household staff, but was surprised to see his sister standing in the doorway wearing an expression of amusement.

“Delilah,” he said cordially.

“Oh, hello, Delilah,” Rowan said. “Thank you for the flowers.”

“It was no trouble,” Delilah answered with a smile. “I just came around to see that the suite was ready. I didn't expect you to be here yet. Just let me check something.” She walked past them and into the alcove where the bed was, and then returned a few moments later with a satisfied expression on her face.

“Just checking that the bed was made properly and the sheets were turned back,” she explained. “And I would suggest that if you're going to start undressing each other, you should either use the sleeping alcove where you're not immediately visible to everyone who comes up here, or you take the sensible precaution of shutting the door.”

Rowan laughed. “Oh, come on, Delilah, nobody's undressed.”

“I daresay, if I'd been a few minutes later, one or both of you would have been,” Delilah answered back with a smirk. “And you two are not really known for your discretion, are you? Rumour has it you're always ducking into alcoves and dark corners to put your hands all over each other and lock jaws like a pair of randy teenagers. Oh, don't look so surprised, Nathaniel. I'm the housekeeper. I hear _all_ the gossip.”

Nathaniel was frowning but Rowan just laughed. “I told you, didn't I?” she said to him.

“If you ask me,” Delilah said, “neither of you lack for self-control, so I think it's a lovers' game you two like to play. A bit if risk, a bit of a thrill, hmm?”

Rowan smirked and Nathaniel rolled his eyes at his sister, but neither one of them denied it.

“What other gossip have you heard?” Rowan asked. “Gossip can be useful.”

“Yes, I know,” Delilah said with a sly grin, “which is why I keep up with it. You'll be happy to know, Commander, that your troops and your household are quite satisfied with the way things are run here, and with your style of leadership. The talk about you and my brother being unable to resist each other is more titillation and entertainment than serious concern. There's also a lot of gossip at the moment about Captain Garevel having his eye on the attractive cellarmaster, but he isn't the only one who does. People talk, you know how it is.”

“I do indeed,” Rowan said. “I don't really mind being the subject of gossip, so long as it's true or at least not detrimental.”

“There are also rumours that Nathaniel wants to marry you, but you don't want to marry him. Any truth to that?”

Nathaniel sighed as he felt Rowan stiffen. Delilah's bluntness was usually refreshing, but now and then it made him quite uncomfortable, and this was one of those times. Rowan was skittish enough without being questioned by his sister.

“It's true,” Rowan answered with a shrug. “I'm happy the way things are. We're together, neither of us is going anywhere, and the blessing of the Chantry, as nice and proper as that may be, is not going to improve anything.”

Delilah grinned. “Oh, that's a good response,” she said with a nod. “I'll surreptitiously let that slip to some of my more gossipy maids so it gets around. I don't think anyone necessarily thinks you're playing him for a fool, but there are those who are of a more traditional bent who wonder why you don't just make it official.”

“I wonder the same thing,” Nathaniel said, and Rowan rolled her eyes at him.

“By the way, one of the chambermaids is pregnant, the one who came from Denerim with us, Tilda. She's still involved with the soldier, Jack, and I assume he's the father. She doesn't know I know she's pregnant, so I don't have any more information on what they plan to do, but there might be a hasty wedding, or not. We'll see, I suppose. Either way, I'm happy to keep her on staff if she wants to stay, and if it's all right with you, give her some time off when the baby's born and then light duties for a while. We can arrange care for the baby or work out something so that she can take it around with her, the way I do with Dane. I assume that's acceptable?”

“Yes, of course,” Rowan answered. “You're in charge of the household staff, Delilah, and you have the authority to act as you see fit. You know, I never really thought about what happens to pregnant chambermaids. I'm sure there must have been plenty of it at Highever, but I don't recall hearing about it, nor knowing how it was handled.”

Delilah grinned. “Didn't spend much time talking to your housekeeper, did you?”

Before Rowan could answer, there was a knock on the open door and two servants appeared with trolleys to serve dinner.

“Ah, and here's your dinner,” Delilah said with a smile. “I will leave you to your meal, and I expect my son is looking for his about now. Enjoy your evening. Do remember to shut the door, though, before it gets _too_ enjoyable, hmm?”

With a nod to the servants and then a wink and a smirk to Rowan and Nathaniel, Delilah left as the servants started to set out the covered dishes for the meal.

 

~*~

 

Rowan woke early and smiled before she even opened her eyes as the previous evening returned to her in vivid detail. Nathaniel had very much made good on his goal of making the first night in their new suite memorable. He had been playful, tender, loving, a little teasing, but not dominant, letting her take the lead when she wanted to, and to fall back and let him have control when she didn't.

She could hear him in the front part of the suite, where the table was, talking quietly to the servant who had brought their breakfast. She considered getting up but then decided to let him come to her.

“Sweetheart,” he said as he sat on the edge of the bed. He put a hand on her shoulder and stroked tenderly. “Did I tire you out that much?”

“Mmmm, possibly,” she answered. He sounded so pleased with himself, so smug. “Maybe I just don't want to get out of these scented sheets. It's terribly nice here in this bed, you know. This feather mattress is amazing.”

“Yes, I know, but there's a hot breakfast waiting,” he said seductively. “Pancakes, my love, with sweet berries in syrup and whipped cream... And there's bacon... And there's tea...”

“All right, you've convinced me,” she said, opening her eyes and looking at him through her lashes. Maker, he looked good in the morning, dark shadow along his jaw and chin and upper lip, silky, dark hair loose around his face and shoulders, tucked behind his ear on one side. He was wearing only his black silk dressing gown, and it was loosely tied, gaping open to expose his chest. And despite the evening they'd spent in rather vigorous lovemaking, the sight of him stirred her, just as it always did.

She asked, “What's your schedule like today?”

“I made sure my morning was free,” he answered, reaching out to brush her stray hair out of her eyes. “In the afternoon, I'm conducting an archery training session, but then I'm clear, though I can always find something that needs my attention. You?”

“Oh, same as usual, working in the study so we can finally turn it into my official office. Our office, really. You could help with that, you know.”

“I can if you like,” he answered. “I might know something about that room, but it's half-remembered and I could be wrong. I've been meaning to follow up on that, in fact.”

“That sounds like a plan, then,” Rowan said, turning her body so she could sit up. “Andraste's frilly knickers, my legs are really stiff. I must be getting out of shape. Too much time spent doing paperwork. You did give me quite the workout, Lieutenant.”

He chuckled. “You're not that out of shape,” he pointed out. “Still beautifully strong and limber, or what we did wouldn't have worked at all. It was fun, though, wasn't it?”

She stood up and stretched and he reached out to stroke her backside as she reached for her dressing gown. “Yes,” she agreed, “I can't deny that it was fun. A bit of elfroot tea will help the stiff muscles, I'm sure. Though maybe you should give me a massage after we eat, seeing as my discomfort is your fault.”

“You know where that will lead.”

“I certainly do. The office can wait an hour or... however long it takes.”

Nathaniel was dressed only in his silk dressing gown. He stood up and put his arms around her, one hand on her upper back, one hand on her arse, and he drew her close to his body.

“Maker, but I love you,” he sighed into her ear.

“So you should,” she answered saucily. “After all, I'm the celebrated Hero of Ferelden. I saved us all! Huzzah!”

“That reminds me, when are you going to demonstrate that thing where you shoot lighting out of your arse?”

“Maybe after breakfast,” she answered with a grin.

 

 


	65. Keys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel and Rowan slightly embarrass Varel, pick locks, look through paperwork, and find some keys. 
> 
> Yes, it's a bridging chapter, but it's still got some emotional stuff in it and it's not fluffy. Entirely SFW.

Nathaniel and Rowan wandered into the office mid-morning, arm in arm, laughing, and very relaxed. Rowan thought that Nathaniel looked particularly pleased with himself, and had to admit he had good reason to be.

“Good morning, Varel,” Rowan said happily. “We have some help today, at least for a few hours.”

“Lieutenant,” Varel said cordially to Nathaniel, who nodded in greeting. “Commander, you look well today. I take it you enjoyed your first night in your new suite?”

“We did,” Rowan said with a happy sigh as she sat down at the desk. She'd brought lock picking tools with her so she could open all the drawers to be sorted and she dropped the kit on the desk with a thud.

Nathaniel, meanwhile, moved toward the big hearth. Slowly, he felt around the stones that framed the fireplace and Rowan sat back and watched him. He eventually found what he was looking for and worked out a loose stone and peered into the hole.

“Ah, hah,” he said, poking two fingers into the opening and pulling out a key which he held up to show her. “I did remember.”

“Oh, what's that for?” Rowan asked.

“This looks distinctly like a door key, and there's a room in the cellars that I think it might open,” Nathaniel explained. “I'm fairly certain it's a private study. My father used to go down there to be alone, or so he said. We can check later. For now, what can I help you with?”

“All the drawers are locked, no sign of any keys,” she said, indicating the desk. “I can pick the locks myself, of course, but do you want to do the honours?”

“I'll do it,” Nathaniel said amiably, and grabbed the tools before he squatted by the desk. “I suspect there will be secret compartments, as well, so we should check the entire structure. Take the drawers out, look for false bottoms, all of that.” He worked at the lock on the first big drawer on the bottom left and popped it open easily. “Here you go, Commander,” he said as he worked the drawer out completely and plopped it on the floor.

Rowan looked at the drawer and its contents, which appeared to be mostly papers and a few bound journals. “Have a look in the empty space and see if you can find anything hidden, and then help me go through these, will you?”

Nathaniel nodded and reached into the hollow space in the desk and carefully felt for anything unusual. “All I can find is the runners for the drawer. Speaking of which, since you're getting a new desk, I'll take this one if you don't mind. It wasn't just my father's. It belonged to my grandfather, and my great-uncle and probably a couple of generations before that.”

“I certainly have no objection to that,” Rowan said. “I have never wanted to take any of your heritage from you. You know that, don't you?”

He sat down on the floor tailor style and looked up at her. “I know that, sweetheart.”

Varel cleared his throat, and Rowan chuckled. “Yes?” she said, turning to Varel.

“Oh, nothing,” he said, his deep voice rumbling. “I just thought perhaps you forgot you weren't alone.”

Rowan snorted, but turned her attention to the drawer rather than banter with Varel, who was teasing her as he often did. Nathaniel, meanwhile, glanced over the pages he'd picked up and set them aside and reached for another handful.

“These are mostly old receipts,” Nathaniel said. “I doubt you'll find much of any lasting use, but they might be helpful for reconstructing the arling's financial history. These go back to well before the war. Might be of some use, I don't know. Mistress Woolsey might like to look through them.”

Rowan reached for a bundle of documents and the two of them worked through the contents of the drawer while Varel continued with the book sorting, and Ser Barkley lay near Varel's feet companionably. The contents of the drawer proved to be all financial papers and some account books. Rowan couldn't work out why the previous arl had locked them in a drawer in his study, but here they were, and they would be delivered to Mistress Woolsey in case she had any use for them.

They checked the empty drawer for secret compartments and found nothing unusual, so Nathaniel set it aside and they moved on to the next. It, too, was full of various financial records, but ones from closer to the start of the war, and some of the entries struck Nathaniel as suspicious.

“I'm sure something here is not right,” Nathaniel said. “Judging by the dates on these papers, my father was actively working toward... something. Hiring mercenaries, certainly, since I know many of his soldiers were deserting. But it seems there's more, and I can't quite work out what it was, though, without spending a lot of time going through them all.”

Varel spoke up, “As you say, your father was, indeed, alienating his staff and soldiers for some time. By the time he was openly planning the attack on Highever, only the most jaded and the most desperate were willing to remain with him. I don't know, but I believe some of those documents will show that he was also gaining funds from certain banns and landholders in exchange for favours and probably promises of favours. Some of them were those who moved against the Commander, of course.”

By the time lunch was being served, Nathaniel and Rowan had emptied most of the desk, though there was still a drawer to go. They decided to go with Varel and eat in the dining hall, and leave the drawer for Rowan to go through while Nathaniel went to his archery practice.

After the midday meal, while Nathaniel was on the training field, Rowan found a key stuck to the bottom of a drawer with wax. It was a small key, not for a door, but more like a coffer or a strong box. She put it carefully on the desk and sorted the papers, all mundane, and quite boring correspondence. Then she found a letter from her father to Rendon Howe, confirming the plans for the joined armies' march to Ostagar. Lies, on Rendon's part, of course, but her father, Bryce, had been as forthright as ever. The letter was in his own handwriting and used a casual form that conveyed decades of familiarity and friendship.

Rowan didn't even realise she was crying until she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at Varel's kind face and he gestured a little awkwardly as if offering her a hug, so she stood up and accepted it. When Nathaniel arrived, she was quietly crying on Varel's shoulder while he patted her on the back.

“Ah, you're here,” Varel said quietly to Nathaniel. “I'll just go and have a word with Mistress Woolsey about these documents. I shall leave the Commander in your capable hands.”

Rowan found herself seated, Nathaniel kneeling in front of her. She managed to offer her thanks to Varel, who told her to think nothing of it and shut the door quietly as he left.

“Sweetheart? What's wrong? What can I do to help?” Nathaniel asked, his face full of concern.

“Read the letter. It's from my father to yours,” she said, indicating the document on the desk.

Nate stood up, frowning, and picked up the partly unfolded parchment as he leaned against the desk. Rowan watched his face as he read, how it went from confusion to anger.

“My father and yours fought together in the rebellion," Nathaniel said. "Your parents, before they were even married, were the only witnesses apart from the Chantry mother when my father married my mother. They were friends, or your father certainly thought so. And my father... Maker's mercy, Rowan. I knew he was... Of course I _knew_ , but... Seeing it like this just makes that betrayal so much more ugly. I can see why you're upset.”

“So are you now,” she said quietly, sniffling just a bit. “I'm sorry.” He handed her his handkerchief and she couldn't help but smile.

“It's not your fault, but yes, I am upset,” he admitted. “I'm angry. What was he... Why? I just don't see _why_.”

“Please don't run off and brood by yourself. I don't want to be alone.”

He raised both eyebrows in surprise. “I never thought about... All right, I won't leave you alone, but I can't promise I'll be good company.”

“You don't have to charm and distract me all the time, you know.”

“Oh, but I like that,” he answered with a half smile, “and so do you.”

He shifted his position on the desk, knocking off the key she'd found in the process. It hit the floor with a sharp ringing sound and he bent to pick it up.

“What's this?” he asked.

“I found it stuck to the bottom of the last drawer, hidden underneath.”

“Interesting. I wonder what it's for.”

“Don't you know?”

“No. It's probably a lockbox or something along those lines, but other than that, I have no idea.” He considered the key for a moment. “Complex key. Probably dwarven. The lock would be hard to pick.” He stood up abruptly and offered her his hand. “Want to go on an adventure with me? We'll head to the cellars and find my father's private study. I'm reasonably sure the key from the fireplace will open the main door, but we'll bring the lockpicking tools, just in case.”

“All that time in the cellars and you haven't gone in there yet?”

“No. There are lots of places we haven't been. We only opened up the wine cellars when we got a cellarmaster, remember? My expeditions have been about looking for specific things like breaks in the foundations and places where the tunnels were weakened and in danger of collapse, or where the darkspawn might be able to break through, and I mostly let the dwarves lead the way because that's their job. Treasure hunting or, I suppose, clue hunting has not been the priority.”

“All right. Should we arm up?”

He shrugged. “Probably not necessary, but a couple of daggers might be good to have at the ready, just in case. Come on, sweetheart, let's see if we can find some answers, all right? And if nothing else, we can get distracted in some darkened corridor.”

“Ohh, now there's an offer I can't refuse.”

 


	66. The Secret Study

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel and Rowan investigate Rendon Howe's secret study and a very interesting cache of rare books.
> 
> SFW, but some mild sexual references.

The key from the fireplace did, indeed, fit the lock to the old arl's secret study. Nathaniel went in first and lit the lamps with the small taper he'd brought along. The room had been untouched since before the war, but it appeared to have been in use right up until then. It looked like a study, neither more nor less. There were some books on shelves, but not that many, and there was a filing cabinet with drawers, a desk, and a tall wall cabinet with solid doors.

Rowan wandered to the tall cabinet and opened the top doors to find a supply of liquor and glasses. Whiskey, it looked like, something clear, a couple of others with varying shades of gold or brown, maybe brandy or something. She didn't feel inclined to taste any of them, but she did give a couple of them a whiff. Hard alcohol, and not to her taste, though Nathaniel was known to occasionally knock back a whisky or some other potent potable.

Nathaniel went to the filing cabinet and found all the drawers locked. The key Rowan had found didn't fit any of them, so he picked the locks, which were good quality and beyond the skill of most.

“Letters,” Nathaniel said, looking through the first drawer. “Lots of them. To Loghain, from Loghain, to other banns, including some of the ones who were part of the conspiracy against you, some to people I don't know... He seems to have made copies in his own hand, so this was all personal and private correspondence, things he didn't want anyone else to read or know about. Maker, this is from the Antivan Crows...” He scanned the letter and then stepped back, swallowing hard.

“What is it?”

“His original plan for how to kill your family,” Nathaniel said in a grim voice. “He was going to call in assassins and... apparently pick you off one by one so it looked like a series of very unfortunate accidents. Maker's mercy.”

Nathaniel grabbed all of the letters and shoved them into the satchel he'd brought. “I'll read these later. I can't right now. That one was bad enough. I don't know how I'm going to...”

Rowan was at his side, and she put her arms around him and held him close. He leaned into her slightly, almost reluctantly, his own arms going around her for support.

“You will,” she said. “You're made of stern stuff. Delilah, Fergus, and I survived what he did and so will you.”

“I know,” he said brokenly against her hair. “I know I will, and I'll be stronger and better for it in the end, but I'm not looking forward to the journey.”

She smiled and kissed him on the cheek once. “I know what you mean. We'll get there, both of us. That's an order.”

He chuckled and stepped back to look at her, his eyes intense. “Yes, Commander.”

“Are you all right now?” she asked, and he nodded. “I'm going to look at the books. Don't read any more of the documents, just put them in the bag. We'll go through them together, maybe with Varel, who might know something about it. But just... don't let's spend all day down here, all right?”

Nathaniel nodded again and sighed, and then moved to the second drawer, which was full of what looked like account books. He shoved them into the bag without even looking at them, and Rowan turned to the bookshelves, pulling a book off at random and flipping through the pages.

“Oh. My.” The illustrations were graphic and the subject matter was explicit. It made The Art of Passionate Love look quite tame by comparison. “Uh... This book is undoubtedly banned by the Chantry and I'd guess it's worth a lot of coin,” she said eventually.

“What is it?”

Rowan turned the book in her hands. “ _The Pleasure of Pain_ by the Marquise du Monette,” she read.

“You're joking,” Nathaniel said and walked over to see for himself. He took the book from her hands and paged through, his eyes widening as he did. “Well, this is... interesting... A bit, uh, extreme for my taste, but...” He paused on one page turned his head, then turned the book, as if trying to puzzle out the illustration. “Ah. Right.” He looked inside the front cover and said, “There's a bookplate inscription. Tarleton Howe.”

“Tarleton Howe,” she repeated. “Your... grandfather, was it?”

“Yes,” Nathaniel said with a sigh. “Sided with the Orlesians during the occupation, and he was constantly waging war with the Couslands, who, of course, supported the rebellion. When the Couslands captured Harper's Ford, they also captured Tareleton and hanged him.”

“I... yes, I seem to recall something like that from my history lessons,” Rowan said uncomfortably. “I'm... sorry?”

Nathaniel laughed. “It was a long time ago, and he was a very old man who would have died of natural causes soon enough. They could have just thrown him into a dungeon and left him there and let time take its toll, but I imagine they were trying to make an example of him. My father was old enough to inherit the title, but he was already known to be amongst the rebels, and there was no way the Orlesian king would have confirmed his inheritance. Tarleton's much younger brother, Byron, became the arl, and he did pledge his allegiance to the Orlesians, at least at first. Later, he changed sides and supported the rebels. He died during the rebellion, and my father became the arl when Maric came to power, and... you know the rest.”

“What changed Byron's mind?”

“The story goes that he attended King Meghren's birthday celebration and he presented the so-called king with a very old, very treasured family sword of dwarven make, and Meghren was not impressed, to put it mildly. Not only did he ridicule the gift, he ridiculed my great-uncle in open court. The sword ended up with the Chantry, but I don't think Byron ever got over the public humiliation. When the rebel army camped out in Amaranthine, Byron turned a blind eye and let them stay, and then when he got word of approaching Orlesian troops, he sent them a warning so they could escape. Byron eventually led Amaranthine's army against the Orlesians and that's how he died.”

“We need to hire a scribe,” Rowan said suddenly. “To record... well, all of this. Some day people will want to know about the Grey Wardens and what happened in Amaranthine and... I'll speak to Varel about that.”

“Byron's story is documented. So is Tarleton's. We don't need to record my father's deeds for posterity, do we?”

“I'm sure that's already recorded in a great many places,” Rowan pointed out gently, “including unflattering tavern tales. But we can have other things documented. The events of the last year or so, for example. We'd have to leave out some of the secret Warden business, but that's already written down in my Commander's journal and in documents I sent to Weisshaupt. We can record the story of the saving of Amaranthine, though, and the darkspawn uprising at least to some degree, and, oh, the Blackmarsh and what happened there, since it was such a great mystery. Yes, this is a good idea. We'll make it a history of this period in Amaranthine, and focus on that. There are already some Amaranthine and Howe histories from the study, so we know what's already recorded. We'll go from there. You can have some editorial authority if you like.”

He sighed. “As you wish.”

“You know you can't win,” she said teasingly.

“No Howe can ever win against a determined Cousland, I'm convinced of that.”

Rowan giggled. “I'm glad we're clear on that, then,” she said, and leaned over to kiss him on the lips. “Let's keep going, shall we?”

Rowan pulled a volume bound in purple leather from the shelf. “Oh! Look!”

She held the book up so he could read the gilded lettering on the cover. It was _The Art of Passionate Love_ by Brother Capria. The cover was different from the one they'd had at Highever and the binding was completely plain, which is how she had managed to miss it at first. She knew she shouldn't be so pleased with finding the book, but she was.

“Ah, I was trying to find a copy of that,” Nathaniel said. “I was hoping to surprise you.”

“Well, I'm surprised. Aren't you?”

“Yes, I suppose so, but I'm a little sorry it had to be acquired like this.”

“Well, I don't mind. And it's sweet that you thought to find me a copy. We'll have to have a read together and see if we can find something interesting to try, hmmm?”

Nathaniel smirked at her and gestured toward the books on the shelf and they resumed their investigation. It turned out that all of the books were about sex. Most of them were quite unsavoury. Some had an inscription indicating that they were owned by his grandfather, Tarleton. A few had apparently belonged to his father.

There was no question that these books would be worth a great deal of coin on the black market. The ones with inscriptions might even bring a higher price. There were private collectors who would pay a pretty sovereign for a book about sexual perversions which had the nameplate of Rendon Howe, the infamous Butcher of Denerim.

“So,” Rowan began tentatively, “these books belonged to your family.”

“Yes,” Nathaniel answered with a sour expression.

“Do you want to keep them?”

“Other than _The Art of Passionate Love_ , no. I don't think we'd want any of these in the general library and I have no inclination to keep any of them for personal reading. Especially not that one,” he said, indicating a particularly antique volume that featured illustrations that would make a Minrathous whore blush.

She nodded. “Well, we'll need to find a discreet but reliable bookseller, then. I'm sure these are worth plenty to the right collectors. I'll just write down the titles while you finish emptying that file cabinet.”

Nathaniel nodded and resumed his task of putting documents and journals into the satchel while Rowan sat down at the desk and searched for an ink bottle that wasn't dried up. She found one eventually and then found she needed to re-cut the quill tip. By the time she had her list compiled, Nathaniel was checking the filing cabinet drawers for secret panels or other hidden features, found none, and moved to the liquor cabinet to see what might be in the lower section.

“Locked,” he said. He tried the small key and it didn't work, so he went at the lock with the picks until he managed to open it. “There's a good sized strong box here,” he said over his shoulder. “A lockbox in a locked cabinet in a locked room in the cellars. Interesting. And... the key fits.”

Rowan capped the ink and turned in the chair to watch as he opened it. “What is it?”

“Account books? Logs?” He took one out and started to read. “Journals. My father apparently kept a personal journal. This one is from... looks like right before... the massacre at Highever.” He frowned and put the journal aside and pulled out the rest of the volumes until he got to the one on the bottom. “This one is from... twelve years ago. Before I was sent to the Free Marches.”

Rowan saw him swallow hard and then carefully replace all the journals, but instead of putting the most recent on the top, he put it on the bottom, followed by the next and so on until they were in chronological order, to be read from oldest to newest.

“Maybe you'll get the answers you need,” Rowan suggested, and a feeling of dread settled in her stomach. He might get his answers, but she, too, would learn more than she wanted to know. She was content thinking of Rendon Howe as a madman who gladly betrayed one of his longtime friends, took terrible advantage of a nation shattered by a Blight, and ordered the murder of innocents in some sort of jealous lunacy. She had killed Rendon Howe in a fair fight, and while she didn't exactly rejoice in that, for her it was over. For Nathaniel, though, it was so much more complex, and Rowan suspected putting together all the pieces would be painful.

“Do you want to clean out the desk?” she asked.

“The satchel is full and will be heavy enough as it is,” he answered. “We'll take the one book and the satchel and the lockbox, and come back another day to get the rest.”

“Agreed,” she answered.

“I'd like to read the journals, myself, at least at first.”

“That's fine. Do you want to have Varel go through the letters? He was here for some of it, and I certainly trust him with sensitive information.”

“That sounds good,” he answered. “Listen, I'm already unnerved by what we've seen just so far. I expect I'll find things out that will upset me even more. I promised you I wouldn't go off without you, and I will stay, but I may not be attentive. My inclination is always to withdraw, and if I can't do it physically, I have ways of doing it inside my own head, and I may well do that. Please, just know that I do appreciate your company, and I do love you, despite how withdrawn or distant I may get.”

“I understand,” Rowan said, and she did.

“All right then. Let's go,” he said grimly. “Perhaps I'll finally get some of the answers I've been seeking.”

 


	67. Rendon's Journal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel starts to read his father's journal and struggles with what he learns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Non-graphic references to terminating a pregnancy. It can be seen as non-consensual, but it isn't violent. I don't know that it would necessarily trigger anyone, but it will probably make you hate Rendon Howe even more.

Rendon Howe's private journal entries were written almost in the form of letters. It seemed clear that there was no one in whom he felt he could confide, and yet he had the compelling need to explore his own thoughts, vent his frustrations, and express his concerns, worries, and, especially, his complaints. Hence the writings had a confessional quality, and it was no surprise they were kept hidden away under triple lock and key.

Nathaniel started with the oldest journal. Most of the entries were fairly mundane, and they were sporadic, written only when Rendon had something on his mind. Rendon complained about coin, he complained about his wife and children, he complained about the Crown. He referred to a particularly vexing case he had adjudicated. He mentioned his casual sexual encounters with household staff or soldiers of the Keep. He complained about Loghain Mac Tyr's influence over King Maric, which Rendon felt was excessive. Then he bemoaned the fact that Loghain's daughter, Anora, was betrothed to Maric's son, Cailan, and had been practically from birth. Apparently, Rendon would have liked to arrange a marriage between her and Nathaniel, seeing it as a powerful and appropriate Ferelden political match that left Cailan free to make a valuable foreign political marriage.

Nathaniel choked on his ale a bit at that one. He set the mug back on the desk next to the platter of fruit and cheese and reached up to pull the leather tie out of his hair and shake it free. He was not entirely at ease and really would have preferred to be truly alone, but he'd promised Rowan he would stay, so he compromised and sat in the front part of the suite and sent her to bed alone. In order to get her to actually go to bed, however, he'd had to give his word that he wouldn't leave the suite until she was awake in the morning.

He settled back in to read and it was more of the same basic complaints, though now and then there was mention of some judgement or settlement that Rendon had to deal with as arl. Nathaniel's interest grew when he saw references to his trip to Highever for the tournament, the last one he'd participated in before he left for the Free Marches. His father hadn't attended, but he had turned up before Nathaniel and his small travelling company were scheduled to leave, which Nathaniel had thought odd at the time.

> _How fortunate that N is away at Highever for a few weeks. There is another young woman who is apparently pregnant by him. If nothing else, we know that his virility will ensure that the Howe name continues on, assuming he is ever properly wed._
> 
> _As for the young woman, she is one of the household staff. Pretty thing, young, auburn hair and dark eyes and lovely big tits. I can see why N wanted her, and if I had taken notice of her, I would have had her myself. His mother found out about this one, though, and was quite concerned about it, to put it mildly. She fears his ways will lead him down a dark path and nothing I said would reassure her, not that I expected it to do. Long gone are the days when my wife would accept any comfort from me._
> 
> _The young woman protested that she must speak with my son and insisted that he would want to know about her pregnancy. I dare say he would probably think he should step in and acknowledge the brat, which is something I will not have. The young woman is beneath him. Instead, she was made to understand that her cooperation was not negotiable and she would not be speaking to my son again. She was sent to the healer for a potion to fix her problem, which I assured she drank by standing in the room while she did it, she was handed a pouch full of coins, and she sent on her way. I made it clear to her that she was no longer welcome in this arling and that if she knew what was good for her, she would use the coin to remove herself to elsewhere. I suggested South Reach or Redcliffe as suitably far from this place. She can cross the Waking Sea to Nevarra for all I care, so long as she stays well away. Without the brat she carried, she is little threat to me or to my son._
> 
> _Maker willing, she has the sense to take my warning to heart. I would hate to have to send out specialists to make sure her departure is permanent, as I had to do with the last one, who would agree to neither the potion nor to the parting gift of coin and threatened to take her case to the court in Denerim. As it is, I have sent a small company of trusted scouts to shadow this one and make sure she does leave my arling. Should she try to double back or pull any other tricks, she will be dealt with most harshly._

Nathaniel felt like he'd been punched hard in the gut. He knew exactly who the pretty girl with the auburn hair and dark eyes was: Jess, one of the laundry maids. She and Nathaniel had enjoyed each other's intimate company for a few months, and he had been fond of her in his careless way. When he returned from that tournament, she'd been gone, but the sad fact was that servants tended to come and go from the household with great regularity, particularly pretty young women. It had bothered him at the time, and he had wondered where she'd gone and why, even asked around, but no one on staff had been willing to speak of it. He realised now that it was probably for fear of his father's wrath. Not long after, Nathaniel found out he was to go to the Free Marches and he had, somewhat shamefully he thought now, forgotten all about Jess.

Nathaniel frowned, wondering who the other woman might have been. He hoped for a moment that what he'd read did not indicate that his father had actually ordered the murder of some young woman who was pregnant with what could have been Rendon's grandchild, but Nathaniel had to assume the worst. A deep sense of shame and sorrow crashed over him like a wave and he had to close his eyes. He had always told himself, had even believed, that he was just having a bit of fun and that he never harmed anyone, and yet, he had unintentionally done the greatest harm there was. Maker forgive him.

> _I have word that the young woman crossed into Highever arling. She was far south of the city, but it was enough to give me pause. If she were to cross paths with N and tell him what transpired, he would be most difficult to deal with. Therefore, I decided to go to Highever by a direct route and fetch my son, myself, just to be certain this didn't occur._
> 
> _While there I saw that Bryce's daughter is on the verge of womanhood and likely to blossom into a beauty. Pity she's being trained to fight as if she were a boy, but her mother was ever the scrapper when she was young and yet settled into the role of teyrna, so it may be that the girl will outgrow her martial interests when she's married and has a few heirs and spares to occupy her time._
> 
> _At dinner, I noticed the Cousland girl making moon eyes at my son, though he was entirely unaware of her attention. Then it struck me what a brilliant match that would be! It would unify two of the most distinguished and powerful noble families in Ferelden. What's more, the girl almost certainly has dowry property that borders on or near enough to Amaranthine's borders that the arling would be actually expanded by her joining the family, to say nothing of the coin she would bring with her. Such a union would produce children with the highest and most noble blood in Ferelden apart from the Therin line. Indeed, they and their children would be in a grand position to challenge for the throne the next time it comes to the Landsmeet to confirm a monarch, and what's more, being the children of my son, they would be Howes, and not Couslands, an added benefit. And if the Cousland son were to fail to produce heirs, the Howes could claim Highever and become teyrns, if not kings!_
> 
> _I also thought that if my son were to be betrothed, it might curtail his philandering, at least somewhat. If he was to be wed to the Cousland girl, he would have had a reason to be more careful about his dalliances for fear of her family's wrath. If it really came to it, I could send him to train somewhere else, over the seas, perhaps, and bring him back in a few years when the Cousland girl would be old enough for the marriage bed. I have no doubt he would succeed in that task, at least, as he is pleasing to women as well as fertile. We would see heirs and spares in no time, I'm sure._
> 
> _I was very excited by these possibilities, to say the very least, although I was wary, given that I had also at one time wanted to betroth Cousland's son to our D. Bryce wouldn't hear of that. He told me he wanted his son to have the opportunity for a love match and that with the age difference, it was hard to see how they would manage that. Of course, it's ridiculous. She's still far too young to be courted, and the Cousland boy will quite possibly be wed by the time she's of age. I gave up on that match years ago, but I still had hopes that Bryce would consider a match for his daughter, since she is not far from marriageable age and the match would be ideal._
> 
> _When I brought up the matter with Bryce, he flatly refused to make any marriage arrangements for his daughter. No amount of persuasion would sway him in this, not even the possibility of a grandchild on the throne of Ferelden. He told me that my son is always welcome in Highever and when the girl is old enough to court in a few years, he should present his suit to her properly and see how she felt about a match._
> 
> _When he would not be swayed, I smiled, of course, and acted as if it was all well and good, but it was infuriating. Love matches are for fools and peasants. It matters not that Bryce married Eleanor for love, nor that they are still slightly sickeningly in love with one another. A noble should marry for position, for wealth, for lineage and not at the demand of all too fleeting emotions. I suspect that Bryce Cousland simply thinks his family are too good to marry Howes._

Nathaniel felt physically sick. He had, of course, thought about how things might have been different, how he might well have courted Rowan if he'd had the chance, and maybe won her heart. They were a good match and yet... Bryce and Eleanor were gone, his parents were gone, his brother was gone, and Rowan and Nathaniel would never have children at all.

Yet now there was the tantalising _what if_ nagging in the back of his mind, scratched out on paper in his father's handwriting, taunting him. He could have had Rowan years ago, they could have been married, would probably have had a child or even children by now. Perhaps he could have stopped what happened, perhaps he could have steered his father onto another path, if only he'd been allowed to stay in Ferelden. Perhaps, if his father had gotten his way on joining the families, there would not have been any need for intervention.

A few more entries of little interest, a positive mention of Bann Esmerelle, a brief description of a particularly vexing court case, complaints about all the usual things, just a general venting of emotions as one might do with a friend. And then, this:

> _My son has been lately been dallying with a kitchen maid. The girl was seen leaving his chamber at an indiscreet time of the night. She's been visiting the healer for contraceptive potions, so at least she isn't likely to be pregnant. His mother insists, absolutely insists, that he must be leashed, that his habits must be curtailed. She will not rest until something is done about him, and while I think she overreacts, I must admit that for the time being, he is more liability than asset._
> 
> _I do not know of any marriageable girls of high enough station to whom he might be quickly married off. Most are too young or are already betrothed._

Nathaniel's head was spinning and he felt like throwing up. He should put the journal down and go get into bed with Rowan and let the comfort of her closeness soothe him, but he didn't think he'd be able to sleep, and all he would do is disturb her rest. He finished the ale in his mug and set it aside and closed his eyes, trying to sort through the crush of emotions.

It seems his mother had apparently thought her eldest son was some sort of sexual degenerate, or in danger of becoming one. He had no idea his mother even knew how he carried on. She never said anything. No one ever said anything. Maker, he really did not like where this was going, but like a moth to the flame, his eyes returned to the journal entries. They went on about mundane things for a while, but then returned to the topic of Nathaniel and what to do with him.

>   _My wife has a cousin in the Free Marches, a knight of excellent reputation who will not tolerate the kind of reckless excess which N so enjoys. I will try to ensure a place for him with Ser Rodolphe. N can learn diplomacy and strategy and other skills befitting a lord and a commander. Maker willing, he will learn discipline and self-control and find ways to tame his baser cravings. I fear I have indulged him too much, given him too much freedom, and allowed him his excesses for far too long. His mother may be right to be concerned, or she may not, but in any case, he must be reined in._

Nathaniel ran his fingers through his hair. So much for Delilah's theory that he had been sent away because he was too honourable. His father, his _parents_ sent him away because he couldn't keep his cock in his breeches and they were tired of dealing with women he had taken to his bed and possibly made pregnant.

The next entry was his father complaining about how much Nathaniel had argued about being sent away.

>   _I have made the right decision. When I told him he was to serve under Ser Rodolphe in the Free Marches, he was furious with me, and made his displeasure very well known. The boy has always been too headstrong. I will send him with an armed guard if necessary, and I hope that Ser Rodolphe will knock some of the righteous indignation and stubborn refusal to cooperate out of him. If so, N might yet be of use some day. One can hope._

Nathaniel sighed deeply. Nobody had ever even said anything at all to him about his behaviour. If he had known it was a problem, he would have made the effort to change. All his father would have had to do was suggest that the Howe honour and reputation were being brought into question, and Nathaniel would have complied. It seems his father had known him as little as he knew his father.

Now, of course, the Howe fortunes were gone along with the nobility which had been attached to the name, a centuries-old legacy lay in ashes, and the name would end with Nathaniel. Bizarrely, he couldn't help but feel somewhat responsible for that. If he'd been less self-indulgent and less inclined to dally with just about any willing partner, he wouldn't have been sent away. He might have been present to court Rowan, to stop his father's schemes, to... have a different life, and a different world.

His desire to go off somewhere quiet and dark and just stay there completely alone until the raging emotions settled down was tremendous, but he'd promised Rowan he would stay. With his head spinning, Nathaniel visited the privy, then cleaned his teeth and washed his hands and his face before seeking the warmth and comfort of the woman he loved in the bed that they shared.

As he lay quietly with Rowan, listening to her deep, even breathing, a single, clear thought took form and shone through the haze of confused emotions that were swirling through his mind and heart. He was with Rowan, despite everything. In the world of might-have-been, he might have courted her, he might have married her. Things might have been different, that was true, but it would still be Rowan in his arms, just as she was now. It comforted him to think that in any world, in any situation, no matter how different or how similar, he and Rowan would have found each other, would have been together. It was a strange thought, almost alien, but it felt right, and true, and it was deeply comforting.

Nathaniel put all of his focus on that single, strange thought and eventually managed to fall asleep beside the love of his life in the suite that had once been that of his father, and his great-uncle, and generations before that. Not for the first time, he saw that Fate did, indeed, have a twisted sense of humour.


	68. Painful Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel struggles with what he's learned from his father's journals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: References to non-violent but involuntary termination of pregnancy.

Unusually, Rowan woke before Nathaniel did. She lay quietly with him, looking at his face as he slept, enjoying the play of the pale, early light on his distinctive features. There were dark smudges beneath his eyes, and a dark shadow on his jaw and upper lip. He'd been up late, or he'd be awake already. She wondered if she could slip out of the bed without rousing him. He was an extremely light sleeper, which was a useful trait in a good many situations and had alerted the camp to intruders more than once, but right now, she hoped he'd be able to slumber on, at least for a little while.

“Rowan,” he murmured as she turned to get up.

“I'm just going to the privy, love. I'll be right back,” she answered, and he mumbled something and turned onto his other side. When Rowan returned and slipped back under the covers, she asked quietly, “Shall I order us some breakfast?”

“No. Just hold me, please,” he said quietly, and she smiled and curled up against his back, moulding her body to his as she put an arm around his torso, hand on his chest. He sighed and put his hand on hers.

She wanted to ask him if he was all right, but she didn't want to bother him if he was trying to go back to sleep. He'd been reading his father's journal, and it was pretty obvious to her that Nathaniel was disturbed by what he'd read. She closed her eyes. He'd talk to her when he was ready, She fell back asleep curled up next to his body, the two of them fitted together like the perfect match that they were.

Rowan woke later in the morning to find that Nathaniel was not in the bed. She propped herself up on one elbow and looked around. She couldn't see him from her position in the bed, but she thought she heard him in the other part of the suite.

“Nate, love, are you there?”

“I am. Hungry?”

“I'm a Grey Warden,” she answered with a chuckle as she got out of bed and grabbed her dressing gown. “What do you think?”

“There's food here. Not hot, because I went down and got it myself, and I didn't know when you'd be getting up. There are some nice pastries and fresh fruit and soft cheese, though. There's no tea, but I would be happy to go and fetch us some.”

Nathaniel looked haggard, like he hadn't slept well, or much. He was still unshaven, which only called more attention to the dark circles under his eyes. He seemed almost haunted. Add to that the way he held his mouth in a tight line, turned down at the corners, and he was the very picture of a man who was distraught. He was dressed casually in a simple tunic and soft leather breeches and the sheepskin boots he'd bought in Denerim. He didn't appear to have given much thought as to what he put on.

“Troubled?” she asked, reaching for one of the pastries.

“You could say that, yes,” he answered. “I really could use some tea. I'll be back shortly. A walk to the kitchen and back may help clear my head.”

“As you like,” Rowan said. “I'll be here for you.”

“Thank you. I probably won't be good company, though.”

Rowan nodded. “I know. It's fine. Go get some tea, and we can talk more if you want. Or not. It's up to you.”

He put aside the journal he'd been looking at and nodded, and was out the door before she knew it. Rowan was still apprehensive about the contents of Rendon Howe's journals. Nathaniel was clearly bothered by whatever he'd been reading, and Rowan didn't doubt it would bother her, too, though possibly not in the same way.

Rowan had eaten another pastry and a handful of strawberries by the time he returned carrying a tray with a large pot of tea, two mugs, a small jug of milk, and a honey pot. He set the things out quietly and started to pour the tea.

“Do you want to talk?” Rowan asked after she'd fixed up her tea to her liking and had drunk some of it.

He sighed. “No, not really. But... Look, normally I just... think about things. Brood, as some people would have it. I just sit quietly, alone, working it in my mind until it makes sense or I come to terms with it one way or another. Maybe talking about it would help. I'm... willing to try.”

“I'm listening,” Rowan said, reaching for another strawberry.

“All right, then,” Nathaniel agreed, taking a mouthful of tea as if to brace himself. He set down the cup and took a deep breath. “So many things. I guess I'll start with you, shall I?”

“I'm in your father's journal?”

“Yes. Well, first I suppose I should tell you that my father tried to arrange a marriage between Delilah and Fergus. I don't know when, but she must have been very young at the time. Your father turned it down on the grounds that he wanted his children to have the chance to make a love match. Given the age difference between them, it was unlikely to have worked out, so my father gave up on it, but he later tried to arrange a marriage between you and me. Your father turned him down again and told him that I was always welcome at Highever and that I should court you when you were of an age to do that, which would have been a few years off. My father didn't take that very well, though he pretended that everything was fine. In fact, he decided that your father thought the Couslands were too good to marry Howes.”

“He did bring Thomas around to try to court me,” Rowan commented. “My very vigorous rejection must have gone down poorly.”

“It did,” Nathaniel answered darkly.

Rowan sighed and gave his hand a squeeze, which he returned.

“There's more,” he continued. “I finally know why my father sent me away. I never understood why he waited until I was nearly twenty to do it. Essentially, my mother was worried that I was going to turn into a debaucher, or she thought I already was one, and my father was tired of dealing with women I'd apparently made pregnant.”

“What?” Rowan sat up straight in the chair, her jaw dropping slightly.

“There was a woman, I don't know who because my father didn't say, only referred to her in passing. Honestly, I don't know the circumstances. I do know my father tried to get her to take a potion to end the pregnancy, but she refused and I suppose she left, so my father sent soldiers after her to kill her. In his mind, it was to make sure neither she nor her child would be a problem in the future. She didn't even warrant a full entry in his journal, that's how little he was troubled by it.” Nathaniel closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose, exhaling from his mouth. “Maker, this is difficult. Talking, I mean.”

Rowan got up and moved her chair closer to his so she could hold his hand.

“There was another woman, too, a castle servant. He didn't name her, but he described her well enough that I know who it was. I didn't know she was pregnant, but if I had, I would have taken responsibility. I would have seen to it that she and her child were properly cared for. But I didn't know.”

“How did your father find out?”

“I don't know. All I can think is that someone guessed and word filtered back, the way Delilah heard about Tilda's pregnancy, you know? My father wrote that she wanted to talk to me, but he refused and sent her to the healer for a potion to end her pregnancy, apparently against her will. Then he sent her away with a pouch full of coins and a threat, telling her not to come back to the arling if she knew what was good for her. Maker, Rowan, it's... I've known for a while that my father was dishonourable and corrupt. I knew he committed terrible crimes during the war. I always knew he could be cruel. But I didn't imagine in my wildest dreams that he...” His voice trailed off, as if he couldn't find the words to describe what he wanted to say or he just couldn't bring himself to say it.

Rowan felt helpless. “Oh, my love. I'm so sorry.”

“So am I. If I had known... Andraste on a pyre, it's always about things I didn't know! What I would have done if I had known, what I wouldn't have done if I'd known, how things would be different if I'd known. It's beyond frustrating!”

He was shouting. She flinched slightly, but didn't say anything.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” he said more quietly. “Talking about this is really difficult and painful. I just keep thinking that I can't even have children any more, and now I find out that my father really was a man who would indiscriminately kill his own potential grandchildren when it didn't suit him to have them exist. Because they were too much trouble, because their mothers were not up to his standards, because their existence might interfere with his schemes. Honestly, I don't even know what problem a couple of bastards would be. Don't most noblemen have one or two? Even the king had one!”

 _And look what kind of trouble that caused_ , Rowan thought, but did not say aloud. Instead, she leaned forward and squeezed his hand again.

“Nathaniel, my love,” she said, “you look exhausted. Come back to bed with me. We'll shut the bed curtains and I'll hold you and you can brood quietly or you can sleep or even cry if you need to. We can make love or not, we can talk or not, but do come to bed, please.”

He looked at her, his eyes stormy and intense. She thought he was going to refuse her, but then he nodded. He got to his feet and she quickly ducked into the hallway to tell the nearest guard that they were not to be disturbed. When she returned to the suite, he was in the bed, his clothes on the floor, and he'd drawn the bed curtains. She shuffled off her dressing gown and joined him.

“Here I am, my love,” she said quietly as she crawled under the covers with him. His arms went around her immediately and he gave a shuddering sigh.

“I'm so sorry,” he said mournfully.

“For what?”

“Everything. Everything I did to contribute to what happened. I didn't know it at the time, but I did contribute, and I am so very sorry. If I hadn't been so self-indulgent, I might not have been sent away. I might have been here to court you, or, at the very least, to stop my father from... My vices contributed to the circumstances that led to... Maker, Rowan, forgive me.”

She didn't really follow him, but it was clear he was deeply shaken and profoundly upset, so she didn't question him further. She considered telling him it wasn't his fault, but somehow she didn't think that would help.

“I forgive you,” she said instead, and felt him give a shuddering sigh that felt and sounded suspiciously like a repressed sob. “And I love you.”

 

 


	69. Brooding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel broods and broods some more as he finds out more about his father's state of mind.

Over the past week, Nathaniel had gone through years of his father's journal, reading in the evenings in the master suite. It was emotionally taxing and put him in a foul mood, but he was compelled to keep reading. And the things he found out, the patterns that were emerging, were deeply disturbing.

It would seem that the reason Rendon Howe apparently had no one in whom he could confide was that he became more and more resentful and paranoid as time went on. And, of course, the distances he created and the walls he built around himself only made his resentments and obsessions worse. Nathaniel still didn't know what had happened to drive a wedge between his parents, but he was starting to have a fairly good idea that it was his father's troubled mind and mean spirit.

Nathaniel had been in the Free Marches when his mother died. He had not been able to attend her funeral because he didn't even receive word of her death for several weeks. He considered coming back to Ferelden for a visit, but his father had written back and told him to stay where he was and continue his training, since returning to Ferelden wouldn't bring his mother back. Of course, Nathaniel's intention in coming home was more to offer comfort to his father and siblings and perhaps draw some, himself, but his father was clear that his presence was not required and his visit would not be sanctioned.

The journal made it obvious that while his father had long been jealous, resentful, and immoral, his real spiral into absolute moral oblivion and possibly insanity had come after the death of his wife. Nathaniel found it odd, given that by this time, they could barely stand each other, but it seemed as if she had been some kind of stabilising force for Rendon, an anchor or a touchstone, so to speak. Her loss seemed to have cut him adrift.

The journal entries slowly became more erratic and more rambling, doubling back and switching topics suddenly. Sometimes his father would contradict something he'd written just paragraphs earlier, and then switch back to the earlier position, apparently without seeing what he'd done. He referred to people in ways that made it unclear who he was talking about, and sometimes it wasn't clear why he was talking about them.

>   _And so it has come to pass that I have a dead wife, two useless sons, one a debaucher, the other fast becoming a chronic drunkard, and a daughter who seems to regard the nobility to which she was born as if it were the chains of slavery. I cannot find a proper match for her. The Cousland son is married now, so that is no longer an option._
> 
> _Meanwhile, the Cousland daughter has, indeed, grown into a beauty but she fights like a man and rejects all offers of marriage. The last time we visited, I sent T to woo her, by force if necessary, and the idiot ended up with a broken nose for his trouble! N would at least have had a fair chance of seducing her, one way or another. I would have brought him back already for this exact purpose, but as I have written already, I hear from his guardian that N is has become far more self-controlled. A bit of pity, really, but this is what I get for listening to his mother. The very skill that might have won him a wife good enough for a Howe and it has been tempered out of him._
> 
>   _The ridiculous state of the Highever household comes as little surprise. What can you expect from a man who is so besotted by his wife that he won't act without her consent or her counsel? And he still enjoys his wife's loving company, while I have not had such a thing for many years._

 There was so much more. Nathaniel read on into the night. Many of his father's ramblings were semi-incoherent. He went from normal complaints and snide comments about his family and daily life to a near obsession with the Couslands and their good fortune, which he somehow took as a personal affront. He had a great deal to say about the Landsmeet and the members of the bannorn who favoured Bryce Cousland as king over Cailan Theirin. Not that Rendon particularly liked Cailan, who he saw as a flippant fool and an overgrown boy. Rather, he was incensed that Bryce Cousland was again somehow succeeding at some cost to the house of Howe. He was particularly outraged that Bryce declined the nomination and offered his support to Cailan.

>   _He was offered the very throne of Ferelden, and yet he chooses to support the idiot son of Maric. The man is given every advantage and has so many blessings he can afford to simply turn away from opportunity! How does he do it? Why does Bryce Cousland always flourish, with his loving wife and his happy family and his prosperous arling, while I struggle to find the coin I need to carry out the plans I have?_
> 
>   _I have invested in ventures in Antiva, in the Free Marches, in Nevarra, and have had little success. More losses than gains in the end. Yet Bryce Cousland's son marries for love and it happens to be the daughter of one of Antiva's richest merchant princes and she brings with her a fortune. I cannot find any suitable matches for any of my children. Does the Howe name no longer command respect? Does the child of the Arl of Amaranthine no longer offer sufficient prestige? I wonder if Leonas is poisoning the bannorn with his hatred, or if there is some other treachery afoot. Perhaps Cousland, with his smug superiority, is in league with Leonas in working against me._
> 
>   _In any case, Bryce Cousland and his Maker-blessed life are a constant reminder to me of my misfortunes._

 At some point, Rendon had reached out to Loghain Mac Tyr, under whom he had served in the rebellion against Orlais. Rendon mentioned it only after the fact, so it was unclear when they had reconnected. Nathaniel didn't know if his father had been deliberately trying to curry favour with the new king's father-in-law or if he was just casting about for someone to ally with or maybe he just wanted a friend, since he had decided that Bryce Cousland was no friend of his, yet maintained the ruse to Bryce that they were the best of friends and allies.

His father had a number of wild theories as to how and why Bryce Cousland was so prosperous and fortunate. One mad idea was that Bryce had worked with a blood mage to summon a desire demon and had struck a bargain with it.

Another was that Bryce had made some kind of arrangement with Cailan for special favours. In exchange for his support, Bryce was supposedly receiving funding and all manner of advantageous opportunities. Even Rowan's name played into it, something about how he named his daughter after Maric's wife, Cailan's mother, as a sign or a token to indicate the special importance and favour of the Cousland family.

The biggest suspicion, to which his father came back time and again, was that Bryce was in league with Orlais on some kind of treacherous, secret mission to undermine Ferelden's sovereignty and was rewarded for his treachery. This one, unfortunately, had some superficial support.

Rowan had told Nathaniel once that her father had gone to Orlais along with King Cailan and other Ferelden nobles, including the Arl of South Reach and Arl Eamon of Redcliffe. Much later, Rowan discovered that Eamon had been pushing Cailan to put aside Anora and form one of the strongest kinds of political alliances, a marriage to the young Empress of Orlais, Celene. Eamon had seen this as a way to bring lasting peace and security for Ferelden. Rowan didn't know her father's position, but thought he must have felt the same.

The Arl of South Reach, Leonas Bryland, was Nathaniel's maternal uncle and a long time antagonist of Rendon Howe. Nathaniel had never met him, though he'd seen him on a few occasions at official functions. Leonas had objected so strenuously to his sister's marriage to Rendon Howe, which Leonas saw as impulsive, and the rift was so great that he estranged himself from her and her children, something that had always chafed Rendon's pride. He did still got her dowry, which was hers to have upon marriage, whether or not her brother approved, but the years of Leonas Bryland shunning Rendon Howe created a very hostile grudge in the heart and mind of the Arl of Amaranthine.

So Rendon, in his jealousy and spite, went to Bryce Cousland and played the trusted friend and found out some of the details of the trip to Orlais and then passed them on to Teyrn Loghain Mac Tyr, who was notorious in his utter and absolute hatred of Orlais and all things Orlesian. Rendon bragged in his journal about how easy it had been to manipulate Loghain and use his paranoia against him, planting seeds of doubt and seeds of fear while making himself out to be Loghain's trusted ally. Nevermind that some years earlier, Rendon had been in favour of Cailan making a powerful foreign marriage. Rendon was fickle and as inconstant as a wisp.

Nathaniel put the journal down. He had to stop. It was doing his head in, and it was late. The urge to go off on his own was still very strong. He was painfully restless, and he very much wanted to walk the battlements, or stalk the corridors or really anything so that he could be entirely, utterly, alone.

The understanding that his father had developed an unnatural jealousy of the Couslands filled Nathaniel with shame. Jealousy and envy were one thing, but planning and eventually carrying out the massacre of an entire family and their innocent retainers was quite another.

It was a bitter, painful irony that if things had gone a little differently, Rowan and Nathaniel might well have found each other naturally, and might have wanted to make a match. Nathaniel couldn't think of any circumstances in which he wouldn't have wanted her, at least once she was of an appropriate age. From his father's journals, he understood that by the time she was fifteen, she was a beauty, and skilled in arms. He knew from other sources that she'd been a tournament favourite, and a champion in her division on a number of occasions. She'd already had a crush on him when she was younger; if he'd been around to Highever regularly as she grew older...

Nathaniel sighed. Again, the guilt and shame and anger rose up, bitter in his heart. If he hadn't been so self-indulgent, so many things would be different. Or could have been, anyway.

He rubbed his hand down over his face and decided he should go to bed. He didn't have anything pressing to do in the morning because he'd been deliberately scheduling any meetings or training sessions for the afternoon, but he'd been sleeping little and poorly and it was starting to catch up to him. Were he not a Grey Warden, with improved stamina and strength, he probably would not have been anywhere near as able to still get his work done.

Rowan was asleep in the big bed when he crawled into it. Since that first day when he'd allowed her to drag him back into bed with her, he hadn't talked to her about what he was reading and the very ugly picture it was painting in his mind. Articulating it was just too painful.

She sighed quietly and nestled up to him in her sleep, and his body responded immediately. He wouldn't wake her just to make love to her, though she probably wouldn't mind if he did. It had been more than a week, since the morning before they'd found his father's study in the cellars.

She hadn't complained, though she'd certainly tried to initiate sex more than once. She had accepted it when he told her he wasn't in the mood, that he was tired, that he needed to be alone. She told him she wanted to give him room to work through his emotions and thoughts and all that, so she didn't push him to talk, or for intimacy beyond what he was willing to offer, and he loved her all the more for that.

The truth was, Nathaniel had a great deal of guilt and shame and anger to deal with, plus the knowledge that he was, himself, responsible for his own exile to the Free Marches because of his recklessly wanton behaviour, although he was still somewhat irritated that neither of his parents had ever said a word to him about it.

Delilah had casually observed that Nathaniel used sex as a means of distracting himself, and compared it to the way Thomas had used alcohol. At the time she said it, Nathaniel hadn't thought much about it, but now it rang deep and true. The thought of using Rowan as a means to dispel some of his frustrations and distract him from his onerous thoughts was not pleasing. He loved her. She was not just another body to satisfy his baser cravings and alleviate his stress. He felt as if making love to her would be using her the way he had so many other women. It was slightly ridiculous and he knew that, but he couldn't shake the feeling of guilt and the shame.

Rowan wriggled in her sleep, adjusting her position, and rubbed her arse against his cock in the process. Maker, but he wanted her. Maybe he should just talk to her about all this, but he didn't want to burden her, and he didn't want her pity. He kissed her on the back of the shoulder and pulled his arm around her a little more tightly. He didn't honestly know what to do or how to proceed. Wrestling with his thoughts while having another person so intimately entwined in his life was a new experience. In the past, he just went off to brood until he sorted it out and that had worked well enough. Now there was Rowan, wondering what was wrong, trying to give him the space he wanted, but things were not right between them, no matter how patient and supportive she was being.

Maker, Nathaniel wished he had better ways of dealing with things. For now, he let himself be enveloped by the warm comfort of the bed and the scent of the woman in his arms, a woman he loved above all else and he drifted off into a troubled sleep.

 


	70. Sex Therapy (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan has had enough of Nathaniel's brooding. 
> 
> No plot twists other than Rowan goading Nathaniel into an argument that escalates into angry sex. If you want to avoid the angry sex, read up until he grabs her and kisses her, because that's where it all goes hot and heavy and NSFW. This scene includes some consensual kink (spanking, to be precise) and a lot of dirty talk and snark. Note that this is NOT strong BDSM play nor particularly rough, it's just angry and hot, with some dominance posturing on both sides.

“Nathaniel,” Rowan said over breakfast. They hadn't eaten any meal in the main dining hall since they moved into the new suite, and Nathaniel wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not. It did put them at more of a distance from their soldiers and Wardens, but he was such terrible company right now, he hardly thought it mattered. He encouraged her to go without him, but she wouldn't, arguing that he was obviously upset and needed her support. He did appreciate it, but he also knew there was no point trying to make her do what she wouldn't.

“Yes, love?” he answered. Maker, he was tired. The face that had looked back at him in the mirror as he shaved was haggard, with dark smudges under his eyes and a wan complexion.

Rowan looked well enough, but she was also wearing her command like a mask and cloak, something she hadn't done in quite some time.

“Our absence has been noted,” she said simply.

“Absence? We're not absent.”

“We have been from things like community meals and recreations. People have started to wonder.”

“Have you been talking to Delilah?”

“Of course. At first, everyone thought we were just wearing each other out in the new suite, but people are starting to wonder now. You're looking worse for wear these days. And I, apparently, am distant, grumpy, and preoccupied. It's causing concern and talk, of course. The honeymoon's over sort of thing.”

“I'm sorry, I just –”

She raised her hand and hissed for him to stop talking, a scowl on her face. “No. I don't want another excuse. I understand perfectly well that you're troubled by what you've been learning about your father. I get that, and I am not judging you for it. However, I _am_ starting to lose patience. How long are you going to brood like this?”

He shrugged, feeling defensive and a little irritated with her. “I don't know. As long as it takes.”

“You can think about things for as long as it takes, but you can't withdraw from everything while you do it,” she pronounced, sounding every bit the perturbed commander as she did it. It had been a very long time since she'd taken that tone of voice with him, much less that attitude. “More to the point,” she added as she set down her empty tea mug, “you can't withdraw from _me_ that way. I won't have it.”

Nathaniel's jaw dropped. If he was in a better mood, he would have just rolled with that punch, but he was in a foul temper and her presumptuousness rankled.

“I haven't withdrawn from you. I'm right here.”

“No, you're not really. You're all inside your own head, and you speak to me only when necessary. I could put up with that. Maker knows I did for weeks when you were first made a Grey Warden. But you're supposed to love me, and you know what? I'm not getting any loving.”

“Oh, sex? Is that what this is about?” he shouted. “You have got to be joking!”

“Not just that, no!” she shouted right back at him. “But I know you want it, because you get into bed and rub your hard cock up against me and then never do anything with it. And when I try to initiate, you have an infinite supply of reasons why you don't feel like it. What are you about, Nathaniel Howe? This is not like you! What kind of game are you playing?”

He felt his face fall into an angry scowl. He'd been irritated with her, and then angry, and now he was furious. Game? She thought this was a game? Nathaniel got to his feet and stared at her. “I have work to do,” he snapped.

“No you don't,” she shot back, standing up so they were nearly eye to eye. “I cleared your schedule for the day. We are going to have this out, and you are going nowhere until we do. Do I make myself clear?”

Her face was inches from his, her hands balled up in fists, her dressing gown gaping open to give him an excellent view of her tits, her eyes blazing with ire, challenging him like no woman had ever done. Maker, she was the sexiest woman he'd ever known.

Without even thinking about what he was doing, he grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her to him, kissing her hard on the mouth. Somewhat to his surprise, she responded instantly, her arms going around his waist as she opened her mouth eagerly, hungrily thrusting her tongue against his, pressing her body against him and rubbing her tits against his chest.

“Seducing me? Is that your plan?” he snarled when he broke the kiss. He was angry, he was frustrated, too, and he was more aroused than he'd been in a long time.

“Oh, that's rich, coming from a notorious seducer,” she snapped back at him.

He stared at her. She was scowling at him, but her lips were slightly parted and her pupils were wide and dark with desire. Her quickened breathing made her chest – and her breasts – rise and fall enticingly.

“I... don't have it in me to be gentle...” he managed to grunt. “I'm sorely pissed off.”

“Oh, that's mutual,” she growled. “Let's have it out. You can fight me, or you can fuck me, or both. Bring it on! You know a Howe will never win out against a Cousland.”

When he'd said it in jest, it had been fine. When she said it now, it felt more like a taunt than a joke, especially given his reading material of late. Was she trying to goad him? She had to be. But she wasn't just playing at it, she really was angry with him. They'd have to talk about this later, but for now, he was going to take her up on her offer because he couldn't do anything else, didn't want to do anything else. He looked at her and she curled her lip in a half-smile, half-sneer and he returned the sentiment with a grunt.

He still had his hand on her neck, and he put his other arm around her torso to keep her close as he kissed her again, just as hard as before, and she answered him in kind. Their teeth clashed, tongues almost battled for dominance. He sucked on her lower lip and then bit it, hard enough to startle her, but not hard enough to do any real damage. Even as angry as he was, he loved her, and some part of his brain was telling him to have a care with her.

He dragged his mouth along her jaw and then down her neck, kissing and biting and licking as he went, and she groaned, her nails digging into his flesh through the thin silk of his dressing gown. He wondered why he even still had it on, because it was fully open now, having come untied at some point. Her hand moved between his legs and she cupped his balls and he inhaled sharply. The look in her eye as she held him was a little frightening and extremely exciting. She gave him a leering grin and got down on her knees and started to pleasure him with her mouth.

Maker, it was good. _So good._ This was a move of absolute dominance on her part. She had him quite literally by the balls, and her other hand pumped his cock while she sucked hard at the same time, demanding his sexual compliance. The first time they were together she'd started out with a similar bold move, letting him know she was in charge of herself and the situation. This was why her submission, when she gave it, was so intoxicating, but he'd never experienced this degree of sexual aggression from her, and that was an incredible turn on, too. He heard himself groan, a deep, gutteral sound that rumbled from deep in his chest and grew until it passed his lips as nearly a growl. Maker, was there anything the woman did that didn't turn him on? Right now her head was bobbing in rhythm with the hand she had on the shaft, while squeezing his balls almost too hard. _Almost_...

He put his hands on her head and worked his fingers into her hair and he heard and felt her groan as he did so. He smiled slightly and gripped her hair tighter while he let his nails scrape against her scalp, the way he did when he washed her hair. She increased her pace on his cock, now twisting her head slightly one way and then the other with alternating strokes. The climax that had been building from the moment he kissed her took him over, making his knees buckle with the sheer power of it as he cried out her name with the release.

As soon as he was done, she was at the table, pouring herself a cup of lukewarm tea, which she drank down in a few gulps without honey or anything else added. His anger had simmered down a bit with that release, but then she turned around and smirked at him, one eyebrow raised, her body language arrogant, the way she looked when facing a bandit she was about to beat.

“That take the wind out of your sails, Howe?” she asked.

“You should be careful how you talk to me, Cousland,” he answered. “I'm your match and you know it.”

“Oh, are you, really, Howe?”

He didn't answer her, but instead grabbed her wrists, moving more quickly than she anticipated he would. She struggled a little to get her wrists free but he dragged her body close and kissed her again, tasting the tea in her mouth, and she once more melted against his body, moaning softly. It wasn't long before she was rubbing against him, panting, wanting more contact. He let go of one of her wrists and reached down between her thighs and cupped her, giving her a squeeze and a caress and making her gasp and widen her stance to give him better access.

“You're like a mabari bitch in heat for me, Cousland,” he growled, his voice low in her ear as he nibbled her earlobe and stroked her slit with his fingertips. “The mighty Hero of Ferelden is wet and hot and whimpering for me and wants more than anything for me to make her come, imagine that. Tell me you want it.”

“Oh, I want it,” she answered in a sultry voice, “but you're in no condition to take me, at least not right now.” She glanced down toward his currently flaccid member and then tilted her head, cocking her eyebrow and licking her lips like a cat that had been in the cream.

“I'll take you the way you're talking about soon enough, I assure you. In the meantime, I'll find something else to do with you.”

He didn't wait for her to answer before he bent over and put his shoulder to her belly and picked her up off the ground, holding her in place over his shoulder with one hand on her waist and the other on the back of her legs so that she was draped over him like some sort of fancy sash. She gasped and squirmed a little but not too much, which was good, because he'd probably drop her if she really fought. She had to know that. She was enjoying this.

He dumped her on the bed on her back and then grabbed her legs and dragged her hips to the edge of the bed in front of where he was standing, her opened dressing gown pushed up behind her shoulders. He took a moment to throw off his own useless dressing gown and then he was kneeling by the side of the bed with his arms wrapped around her hips and her legs over his shoulders and his face pressed between her thighs. She was so wet the insides of her thighs were slick, and the scent of her arousal was powerful. He needed to taste her, and not only that, he needed to remind her just how well he knew how to pleasure her.

He started to lick at the hard little nub of flesh between her folds and she gasped with pleasure, urging him on, but he decided he wasn't going to give her what she wanted quite so easily as that. Instead, he toyed with her, pressing kisses to her flesh, making her whine and demand that he stop teasing her and make her come. He ran his tongue down her folds, then back up, flicked it over her pearl just once, and then slid it back down. She squirmed, moaning and whimpering, and he held her hips more tightly. She carded her fingers into his hair and he rewarded her with a lick of her pearl but then drew his tongue down again, poking it at her opening, well and truly tasting her slick, salty wetness. He had her tossing her head and practically ordering him to satisfy her, pulling at his hair and trying to guide his mouth to where she wanted it, and he chuckled against her flesh. He continued to explore every crevice and fold with his tongue, but then he nudged that stiff knot of nerves with the tip of his nose and she screamed with a combination of frustration and pleasure.

He was trying to make her beg, but she wouldn't do it, making for a very different experience from teasing her when she was submissive. He wondered how much frustration she could take. He nudged with his nose again and then slid his tongue back up, stopping just short of where he knew she wanted it while he released his grip on one hip so he could slip a finger inside of her and slowly withdrew it before pushing it back with a twist of his hand. Another cry of frustration and pleasure, another demand that he make her come.

“What's that, Cousland?” he said, curling his finger inside of her.

“Make me come!” she half-grunted, half-shouted. “Or have you forgotten how to do that in the week you've been avoiding me like my cunt had grown fangs and was going to bite you?”

Oh, that was a nasty barb, and he thought he'd reward her for it and also exert some of his power over her. He put a second finger inside of her, rubbing the spot inside that drove her wild, while he leaned in and just held his tongue hard against her pearl. He loosened his grip on her hip and let her grind against his face and mouth. She was actually keening with pleasure as a climax struck her and she came apart, squeezing his fingers hard and crying out with a combination of relief and pleasure and a gush of warm, salty liquid against his chin. Maker's mercy, but he took almost as much pleasure from her climax as she did.

He waited until he was sure she was finished and then got to his feet, standing between her legs, looking down at her, while he very deliberately wiped his face with his hand. Then he was leaning over her, his arms on either side, and he looked down at her, grinning.

“You see that, Cousland? I don't need to use my cock to make you scream.”

She was panting and she looked up at him with a look of lust so hot it nearly set him on fire. “I know,” she said, “but how's your cock now?”

He stood up and glanced down, and then stroked it a couple of times, deliberately putting on a show for her. She watched him with lust-glazed eyes and parted lips.

“Do you need help with that?” she asked.

“I have the situation is in hand,” he answered. “Take off that dressing gown, turn around, head down, arse up, and scoot over to the edge of the bed.”

“Giving me orders now, Howe?” she asked sharply, but she was moving to do as he wanted.

“Cousland, do you want me to fuck you or not?” he demanded.

“Yeah, I want you to fuck me,” she answered. “I want you to fuck me hard and fast and deep and I want you to make me come so hard I can't breathe.”

“You are a shameless, saucy minx,” he said just as she presented her beautiful backside. He rubbed the head of his stiffening cock against her wetness, arousing himself and her until he was ready to thrust inside of her. When he did, she closed around him, hot, wet, and tight. Maker, he would never get tired of that. She groaned and he smiled with satisfaction as he grabbed her hips and started to give her what she demanded.

He had her grabbing the bedsheets in her fists and she was moaning almost musically, in rhythm with his strokes. He could feel her slowly tightening around him from deep inside as her pleasure grew. He stroked hard and fast, exactly what he knew she wanted, and it was what he wanted, too, his balls slapping against her as he thrust, and just as she was starting to climax he raised one hand and brought it down smartly on her arse, the sound of the slap ringing out through the suite. She arched her back and gasped with surprise and immediately lost herself to her climax, squeezing him hard and gasping for breath.

“Andraste's arse, Howe, what was that?” she managed to gasp when she came down. She was still squeezing him hard, though, and he knew she wasn't far off of another peak of pleasure.

“Did you like it?” he asked, still thrusting his cock into her.

“Yes.”

“You know what to say if you want me to stop. Do you want more?”

“Do it again,” she demanded. He smacked the other cheek this time and, like before, she came almost immediately, squeezing him so hard he found it a little difficult to keep moving.

“More?” he wanted to know.

She nodded. He smacked the first cheek again, taking care to do it in a different spot, and then the other side. Her reaction was the same as before. Maker, she did like it. He had always thought she might, but didn't know how to approach her. How did you ask a woman, a commander, no less, if she wanted to be spanked? He smacked again and she grunted her approval. She was rocking on her knees on the bed, bucking against him, moaning unintelligibly, though he did catch the word, _more_ , so he swatted her arse again, always taking care not to hit the same spot too many times in a row and not hitting hard enough to leave any kind of lasting damage.

It wasn't long before her arse was bright red and she was near insensible with pleasure. He'd lost track of how many times she came, though he rarely bothered to try to keep count, anyway.

“Had enough, Cousland? Or do you need more?”

She groaned. “Make me come again, and feel free to come with me if you're able,” she grunted.

Well, that sounded like a challenge. He took hold of her hips again and drove into her hard and fast, pushing her to a climax. He let hers lead him to his own, his knees buckling again as a strangled cry passed his lips and his pleasure crashed over him like a wave, cock twitching as he spilled his seed into her.

When he was spent, he pulled away from her and flopped out sideways on the bed on his back as she stretched out on her stomach and looked at him.

“Feel better?” she asked.

“I... yes, actually. Ah... you're... are you all right?”

“Who, me?” she asked with a laugh. “I'm fucking great, though my arse is very warm and tingly now.”

“Uh, yes, that's... it'll settle down in little while.”

“I expect so. That whole fine line between pleasure and pain thing is... interesting, isn't it? I... kind of had an idea because I have read Brother Capria's book, and I was friends with Zevran, after all, but I didn't have any, uhm, first hand experience. Maker, that was good.”

“I'm glad you enjoyed it,” Nathaniel said sincerely. Yet another pleasure he'd been able to introduce her to. “Let's get in bed and draw the bed curtains and have a cuddle. We need to talk.”

“Oh, you're finally ready to talk to me, are you?” she asked. “And all it took was a week and me deliberately pissing you off and goading you into angry sex. Nathaniel Howe, I love you, but you can be incredibly hard work.”

“And the pot calls the kettle black,” he retorted with a smirk as he turned to get between the sheets while she pulled the curtains closed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't entirely sure what they were going to do here. I had an idea, but they surprised me, to be perfectly honest. It makes perfect sense for them and for the story, but, wow. They really turned up the heat in this chapter. *flutters handkerchief* Maker's mercy!
> 
> (I do actually have an outline and specific plot points and so on. It's just that sometimes the path to those points surprises me a little. So do some of their conversations and other interactions. What can I say, they live in my head and have ideas of their own about how things should proceed...)


	71. Talking it Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel and Rowan talk about what's been going on and make some new rules and plans.

Nathaniel kissed the top of Rowan's head while they cuddled in the big, four-poster bed. As always seemed to happen, her fingers ended up entwined in the hair on his chest.

“Talk to me,” she said eventually.

“What about?”

“Oh, don't be a prat,” she complained. “Let's start with why you wouldn't make love with me for a week.”

“So it really was about the sex, then?” he asked. She could hear in his voice that he was teasing, but it still mildly annoyed her.

“No. Well, a little,” she admitted. “But it's more that you being unwilling to have sex for an entire week is not like you. It's not like us, anyway, unless we're in the Deep Roads or something. It was pretty obvious that something was wrong, and you were keeping it all to yourself. So what is the problem? Talk to me.”

“It's hard to explain,” he said, and then fell silent for a bit. “I was... there is so much shame and guilt, and it's all tied up with sex. Every time I'd think about it, it reminded me.”

“I still don't understand,” Rowan said gently.

“You know about my past. I always told myself that my sexual exploits weren't hurting anyone. I took particular pride in that, in only seducing those who were interested, always getting clear consent, not despoiling innocents, not leading anyone on or making them think it was more than it was, all of that. I reasoned that so long as my partners were okay with it, everything was all fine and nobody was harmed. Well, now I know that wasn't the case. At least one woman and the child she was carrying died because of her affiliation with me. And then there was Jess, who was turned out with a handful of coins and a threat never to come back after being forced to take a potion to terminate her pregnancy. The first woman... I will probably never know who she was, or if it was my child she carried, and that makes me feel deeply ashamed. But Jess... I am truly sorry she was hurt because of her association with me. I only hope she's well, and that she put the coin she got from my father to good use. I wish I'd known. I would have intervened. I would have protected her.”

“What would you have done?”

“I don't know,” he admitted sadly. “I didn't really know my father's true nature then. I probably would have gone to him and told him the situation and that I wanted to take responsibility for Jess and her child... and he would have been furious.” Nathaniel sighed deeply. “Who knows what he would have done. It would have been ugly, though, I'm sure of that.”

Rowan dropped a little kiss on his shoulder and he hugged her with the arm he had around her. She thought he was right. His father's wrath would have been considerable.

“He might have killed her,” she said bluntly. “Possibly in some very unpleasant way. And made you watch.”

Nathaniel inhaled sharply, and then grunted, though she couldn't tell if it was agreement or something else.

“Now, of course,” he said, “I can't have children at all. Not that I ever especially wanted them, but I did kind of expect to have some because of responsibility and heirs and all that. You know how that goes. The obligations of nobility.”

“I always felt the same way. I do sometimes wonder what it would have been like to have a baby with you, though. How that would feel, carrying a child we made inside my body. I might have liked to try that. But still, producing heirs and spares was never really that high on the list of things I wanted to do.”

“You see, though, that's another thing that's bothering me. You and I might have been married. If I'd been in Ferelden to court you properly, I might have been able to win your heart, don't you think? We could have had children. Maybe I could have prevented what happened to your family. If there had been a marriage between our families and possibly shared grandchildren, perhaps my father's unhealthy obsession with the Couslands wouldn't have taken hold. And that brings me right back to the sex thing, because if I'd been less self-indulgent, I wouldn't have been sent away.”

“All of that is pure speculation and you're using it to punish yourself for reasons I don't understand,” Rowan pointed out. “You might have courted me, sure. But you were kind of an arrogant prat back then, and you know it. By the time I was old enough to court, you probably would have had a very bad and very well-known reputation. Maybe I wouldn't have wanted to marry a man like that, even if I did think he was terribly attractive. And remember, by the time I was sixteen, my heart was spoken for, and I felt that way even after my parents... intervened in that relationship. No other suitor managed to sway me, and some of them were very charming and wealthy and handsome and everything else. So don't assume that you would have had me if you had remained in Ferelden. You said yourself that you changed when you went to the Free Marches, and the events of the Ferelden civil war and the Blight have changed you, too. I do love the man you are now, but I haven't married you despite your persistence in proposing marriage, so what makes you think I would have agreed to marry you then?”

“Point taken,” he chuckled, and kissed her on the head. “I do love the way your mind works.”

“Nate, I understand that you're hurting, trying to deal with all these things you're learning. What I don't understand is what any of this has to do with us, here and now. I get the whole quiet and dark and brooding thing, but I don't understand your lack of sexual interest.”

“Maker, it wasn't lack of interest. You pointed that out quite graphically when you were trying to provoke me earlier. I could never lack interest in you. It was more that every time I'd think about having sex with you I'd just... remember. And it felt like I would be using you.”

“You did all right this morning.”

“You pissed me off so much I didn't think about it. And while we're on that topic, what was that all about? You were angry, I could see that. Why were you angry with me?”

Rowan closed her eyes and took a deep breath, composing her thoughts and emotions as best she could.

“You can't just abandon me, Nathaniel. And you promised you wouldn't.” She did her best to keep her voice from wavering, but it still did. She felt better now, but the past few days had been stressful. Painful, even.

After a significant pause, he said quietly, “Forgive me.” He kissed her on the top of the head and was still for so long she thought he might have fallen asleep, but then he spoke. “I'm sorry, sweetheart. I admit, I didn't think of how my dark mood might be affecting you. I do see now that you felt abandoned. I will keep it in mind and try not to make you feel that way again. If I do start to make you feel that way, tell me.”

“Apology accepted,” she said after a little while. “You are really sexy when you're angry, though.”

“Maker, so are you,” he said with a warm chuckle. “You know what? I've never actually had angry sex before. I haven't had any relationships that were... well, let's be honest, most of my relationships were quite brief. I had a few that were more substantial, but none were the kind where you love someone enough that you can fight like that and have everything be all right when the storm passes. For the most part, if I'd gotten that angry with someone, I would have walked away entirely or punched them, not kissed them.”

“You did spank me,” she pointed out.

“It seemed appropriate,” he answered a little smugly. “And you liked it. Furthermore, a smack on the arse is quite different from a punch in the face.”

“You wouldn't punch me.”

“No. Apart from the fact that I love you and I never want to harm you, you'd punch me back and probably break my nose.”

Rowan snorted, and Nathaniel chuckled.

“So, new rules, then,” she said. “If you want to brood, you can't ignore me completely while you do it. I will give you space and leave you to your thoughts because I know that's how you are, but you can't just go all silent and broody like a self-indulgent, privileged, noble brat who doesn't have anyone to answer to.” Her voice softened when she added, “And you can't leave me, you can't abandon me. Please don't. I won't push you, but maybe instead of brooding you might consider talking to me a little bit more. I mean, you feel better, don't you?”

“I do, but I don't know if it's because of the talking or the fighting or the angry sex. Speaking of which, what in the Void possessed you to pick a fight with me? That could have gone all kinds of wrong.”

“I was getting more and more put out, so I went to Delilah for advice. I thought if anyone would know how to snap you out of your mood, she would. She told me to challenge you in some way to draw you out of your own head. Apparently, she used to put beetles in your sheets?”

He groaned. “Yes. I always thought it was because she found it funny when I'd shriek. She was actually doing that to...?” He stopped talking and Rowan knew he was thinking, so she let him ruminate on it a bit.

Eventually she said, “She also told me she used to tell you stories or get you to plait her hair in order to distract you.”

“Of course,” he sighed. “So sometimes it was me comforting her, especially when she was little, but, sometimes she was looking out for me in her very Delilah way, wasn't she?”

“It would seem so,” Rowan said. “I'm glad she's with you. With us. It's nice to have... a family. Apart from Fergus, I have you and Delilah and Albert and Varel and Oghren and Sigrun and... maybe a few others.”

Rowan sighed sadly. Alistair had told her once that the Wardens were like a family. She hadn't really understood what he meant at the time. She did now. The realisation made some things more... understandable, if not acceptable.

“Thinking about your family?” Nathaniel asked quietly.

“Mmm,” she answered non-committally.

Nathaniel sighed but didn't press her. He may have guessed what she was thinking about. Nathaniel had a particular knack for knowing when she was thinking about Alistair, probably because it bothered Nathaniel a bit. Rowan didn't especially like being reminded of Alistair, either, though, and this realisation was particularly unwelcome.

“You could marry me, and make Delilah your sister-in-law for real,” Nathaniel suggested.

He was teasing her, trying to distract her. Rowan couldn't say why she kept encouraging him to propose to her when she always turned him down, but she liked it when he did. And she kind of hoped that one day, she might feel like she could accept. She would like being his wife, if only she could work out what held her back. She closed her eyes and thought, not for the first time, that emotions and making sense of them was a lot harder than running an arling, killing an archdemon or a broodmother, or just about anything else she did.

“I love you,” she finally said. It was one emotion she was sure of. “Maybe one day we'll get married.” For now, that was as close as she could get to saying yes. Nathaniel hugged her, so he must have thought her answer was acceptable.

“I love you, too, sweetheart. And I'm very tired. How about we have a nap and then a meal after that and then we'll make up for the time I wasted this past week when I was self-indulgently brooding and neglecting my intimate duty to you, all right?”

“I have that copy of _The Art of Passionate Love_ ,” she pointed out. “We could have a look through it and pick something to try.”

“Ohhh, there's my saucy minx. There are also a few things from Madame Furline's that I haven't showed you yet.”

“And there's the libertine scoundrel I know and love. So, nap, food, book, sex, is that the plan?”

“That, my love, is the plan.”


	72. A Letter from Fergus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan and Nathaniel receive a letter from Fergus with some extremely interesting information.

The official command office was finished in the early autumn. The former arl's study was a pleasantly big room, with a hearth and big windows for natural light and plenty of space for the two desks, several filing cabinets and chests, chairs for visitors, a couch, a couple of cabinets, and other comforts such as a large, patterned rug and a table big enough for a few people to take a light meal. If required, Rowan could hold a meeting for thirty people, provided some of them remained standing.

Rowan's desk, custom built to be as big, sturdy, and intimidating as possible, took pride of place in the room, with the newly built bookshelves filled with history and reference books behind it, and a very tall, imposing chair upholstered with rich blue velvet. Nathaniel's desk was placed less obtrusively and opposite Rowan's on the far side of the room, next to the door, and his less imposing and possibly slightly more comfortable chair was also upholstered in blue velvet.

Varel declined to have a desk in the Commander's office, preferring the small chamber he'd taken over when he accepted the position of secretary. Rowan had argued with him, but he was having none of it, saying that they'd done perfectly well with him in his own office up until now and there was no reason to change that. He also stated that he preferred the privacy, although he implied that he thought Nathaniel and Rowan would do well to have the space to themselves. Given their reputation for getting into romantic trysts in the most unlikely and sometimes inappropriate of places, he probably wasn't that far wrong.

The portraits which had decorated the room had been taking down. They were all former Arls of Amaranthine, and while Rowan didn't especially have anything against Nathaniel's ancestors, apart from his father, anyway, they were all Howes and it didn't seem appropriate any more. The portraits were moved to one of the formal upstairs rooms, with the exception of Rendon's, which was put into storage.

The walls of the office were now decorated with colourful tapestries. All of them were fanciful and romanticised, and all of them were heroic. Calanhad the Great made an appearance in one of the tapestries, uniting the banns and teyrns to form a united Ferelden. In another, Andraste was leading her army against the Tevinter magisters with holy righteousness. There was a tapestry featuring dramatic battle scene with griffons in reference to the legends of the Grey Wardens.

And there was one depicting the Hero of Ferelden fighting the archdemon. Rowan found that one amusing but utterly absurd, because it got so many details wrong and it was so terribly romanticised and stylised. She was fighting with a sword, her hair was blowing in the wind dramatically, and while Loghain, the Traitor Teyrn, made an appearance in it, the Hero of Ferelden was clearly leading the charge. Rowan thought it was not dissimilar to the tavern songs and tales about her deeds. They were poetically romantic and completely unrealistic, but entertaining. Still, decorating her office with a tapestry that was clearly meant to be her fighting the archdemon was not a bad tool for intimidating anyone who sat down to speak with her. In combination with the others, it made Rowan into a formidable figure and one to be reckoned with. That was the effect she had wanted, of course, and it was why she had such an enormous, imposing desk, and such a tall, throne-like chair. Start from a position of authority, and that's the first step in successful negotiation. And a little intimidation went a long way to making you look like a formidable bargaining partner.

Rowan opened the door to the office, her hair damp around her shoulders from the bath she'd just shared with Nathaniel. Before that, they'd been out on the training field along with Sigrun and Reve, the four rogues working with some of the warriors of the Amaranthine guard as well as warrior Grey Wardens. Rowan had thoroughly enjoyed herself and had gotten quite a good workout. She'd taken a few controlled shield bashes that were going to bruise, but she'd scored more hits than had been scored upon her. She'd also been knocked on her arse once, but she managed to roll out of it in a way that she hoped had looked really impressive, because she'd been impressed that she'd managed to pull it off. Nathaniel occasionally caught her eye and they teamed up, which was always entertaining. After all, you couldn't always count on having only one person attacking you at a time, and the purpose of the exercise was to get the warriors used to fighting against rogues, as many bandits were.

Her brown leather boots clicked on the hard floor as she walked to her desk and sat down in the big, imposing chair. Nathaniel sat down at the antique desk, taking care to leave the door open, as it was meant to be when they were not in a private meeting.

Rowan read over the notes Varel had left for her and was chewing absently on her lower lip as she considered them. Nathaniel was making notes on a hand-drawn map of some part of the vast cellar system and comparing the map to a written assessment.

“Commander, ser.” Rowan looked up at the blonde guard, Bronwyn, Rowan thought her name was. It was becoming quite a feat to know the names of everyone in the arling's growing regiment. “A courier has come from Highever with a missive from the Teyrn. His instructions are to put the message into your hands and no one else's.”

“Send him in.”

Bronwyn stood aside and held out her hand to indicate entry, and a young man Rowan didn't recognise walked in and held out his missive reverently. It was parchment, folded over on itself and tied with a ribbon of the particular greenish blue hue associated with the house of Cousland and sealed with wax. Rowan held out her hand and the courier placed it on her palm and then gave a sigh of relief.

“Warden-Commander Cousland,” the courier said formally, “my lord the Teyrn of Highever bid me ask you for safe lodging until I may return with your reply.”

“Oh. Yes, that's fine, of course. What was your name, soldier?”

“Aedan, ser.”

“Bronwyn, please take Aedan to Mistress Dryden and have her arrange board for him and any escort who came with him. It will probably be overnight, but it might be an additional night, depending on the contents of this letter and how long I need to spend on a response. And shut the door, please, when you go. Thank you.”

Aedan nodded respectfully and left the room, and Bronwyn closed the door behind him.

“Well, this is rather ominous,” Nathaniel said.

“That's why I had Bronwyn shut the door,” Rowan answered as she examined the seal. It was the curved branches of Highever, they teryn's official seal. Rowan wondered idly if Fergus had had to have a new one made after taking over following the war. Rendon Howe had probably taken all the seals, since he had styled himself as Teyrn of Highever, a thought that still turned her stomach. One such seal was her father's signet ring; Rowan had a sudden sickening realisation that Rendon Howe had probably removed the ring from her dead father's finger, and may have put it on his own hand right there over over the bodies of her parents.

She had spoken with Nathaniel at length over the past weeks, and learned a great deal more about Rendon Howe than she ever wanted to know. Mistress Woolsey's examination of the financial records and Varel's review of the correspondence and other documents combined with what Nathaniel had gleaned from his father's journals to present a picture of a man who was robbing his own arling, selling off heirlooms and valuables, and making shady deals with his vassals for years. He had not only been in need of coin to hire assassins or mercenaries. He'd also been investing in a variety of highly questionable and probably illegal business ventures, and most of them failed, though there were strong indications that he was actually being played for a fool by those with whom he invested, many of them Antivan or Tevinter. He also apparently had dealings with Kirkwall's criminal underground, the Coterie, and the Orzammar Carta, and all of those dealings appeared to be illegal, immoral, unethical, or all of those things.

Rowan felt strongly that Rendon had been the one to suggest bringing in Tevinter slavers to raise coin to fund Loghain's war, even if it was Loghain's name on the documents. She also had reason to believe now that it was Rendon who had suggested that Loghain arrange the poisoning of Arl Eamon, who would certainly have opposed Loghain's plan to assume the regency, just as Rowan's father and brother would have done.

She sighed deeply and directed her focus to the letter in her hands. She tugged at the Cousland blue ribbon, pulling the wax seal off of the parchment before unfolding it. The letter was in her brother's own handwriting, not that of a scribe or secretary.

 

_To Rowan and Nathaniel:_

_Rowan, some time ago you asked me to look into the whereabouts of a young woman of Highever, Helena, who was the widow of Ser Jory of Redcliffe. She is no longer in Highever. My agents have learned that she had extended family in the Free Marches, and it is confirmed that she fled to Ostwick from the port at Highever not long after the events at Ostagar left the Grey Wardens and the king dead. With rumours of a coming Blight and with Highever in the hands of Rendon Howe, Helena removed herself from Ferelden and has not been seen in Highever since she left. I will leave it to you as to whether you wish to pursue the matter further, but speaking commander to commander, I would leave her be to raise her child and mourn her husband. Much water has flowed under the bridge._

_Now another matter, somewhat more startling, and it concerns Nathaniel._

_In looking for Helena, my agents were discreetly asking around and amongst the things they reported back was that there is a tailor who claims to be from Amaranthine. I didn't think much of it, until I saw the agent's notes and the description of the woman, which sparked a memory I had long since forgotten due to its unimportance at the time. At the last tournament you attended in Highever, you were planning to stay longer, but your father came toward the end and escorted you back for reasons that were never clear. The day after you left, a young woman turned up at the castle, looking for you. I wouldn't have known anything about it, but I happened to be in the castle yard when she came, and I spoke to her briefly to let her know that you had gone. I assumed at the time that she was someone you'd met in Highever during the tournament. I asked her if I could help her, but she told me no and left. I didn't think any more of it._

_When I read the report of the Amaranthine tailor with auburn hair and dark eyes and remembered that encounter, my curiosity was piqued, and I went into the city, where I spoke to a number of merchants and residents in a casual way. The woman in question is named Jess, and all reports note that she's quite a good tailor, having been trained by old Master Martin. She does good business in Highever. She is unmarried and she has a son of about ten years. When I saw her son, I was prompted to write this letter, because he is the spitting image of you, Nathaniel._

_I have not spoken to her about her son or his paternity, nor about the circumstances that brought her to Highever, as it seems inappropriate to say the least, although she did confirm she was originally from Amaranthine. I also did not mention that I remembered her looking for Nathaniel Howe at the Highever Castle that day so many years ago. I did not want to frighten her, nor cause her to fear that I meant her any harm. I was simply the lord, out for a visit to the town, speaking to various people and sampling the local wares._

_Nathaniel, I very much encourage you to come to Highever and speak with Jess and meet her son, who I rather strongly suspect is yours. How you proceed after that is not my affair, though I am at your disposal should you need my help or support._

_You are both always welcome in Highever, and it's been some time since either of you were here. Please let me know as soon as you can as to when you intend to visit. I will be in residence for four more weeks, but if you cannot get away in that time, you are always welcome to come to the castle when I am not in residence. Rowan is my sister and is well loved in Highever. She will be given every respect and honour. The staff also have standing orders to offer all courtesy to any Grey Warden who presents themselves. This is the least Highever can do._

_Please do send your response and your plans with my courier as soon as possible._

_In love and in friendship,_

_Fergus_

 

“What's wrong?” Nathaniel asked. “You've gone pale.”

“You need to read this.”

Nathaniel got up from his desk and crossed the room to take the letter from her, leaning against her desk as he read.

“Now you've gone pale,” Rowan remarked as he lowered the letter.

“We have to go to Highever as soon as it can be arranged,” Nathaniel said in a voice that would brook no argument. “I know you haven't been back, and I know it will be difficult for you, but we have to go. I need to know if... Maker, Rowan, I might have a son.”

“You could go without me,” Rowan pointed out. “You don't need me along.”

“Of course I do. I always need you with me, don't be absurd. And it's time we both faced up to our pasts.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I've been sitting on this surprise since the beginning. I hope I wasn't too heavy handed with the foreshadowing and that I got the timing right. If you saw it coming, do feel free to let me know (concrit is always welcome), but it is my hope that it smacked you in the face at least a little bit. ;-)


	73. Return to Highever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan is not very happy having to deal with trauma-related anxiety. 
> 
> Probably not particularly triggery, but it does make mention of avoidance anxiety, general anxiety, and PTSD flashback.

It was only a couple of days to Highever by horse if they kept a good pace and cut across the bannorn. How long they'd be away was unknown, but Vigil's Keep and the arling were in good hands between Garevel, Reve, Varel, and Mistress Dryden.

Nathaniel insisted on bringing a company with them to Highever in case they ran into trouble, and asked Evon if he cared to join them, plus Melina, one of the mage Wardens. Nathaniel felt that between himself and Rowan, Evon, and a skilled ice mage, they should be able to handle anything they might encounter. Nathaniel didn't expect anything more serious than bandits, if that.

Oghren volunteered to go to Highever with them, in order to support Rowan. Oghren was aware that she hadn't been back there since her family died, and he understood why, and despite the fact that they were going on horseback, he wanted to be with her, just in case.

“Yeah, I s'pose you do most of her comforting and suchlike these days, and that's good, but she's like family to me,” Oghren said as if Nathaniel didn't know how the dwarf felt about Rowan. “I'd like to be there if, you know, I can help or anything. Besides, I'd like to see the teyrn's place. Never been there.”

In the end, Nathaniel thought that having the two-handed warrior along couldn't hurt, and since Fergus already knew Oghren, the dwarf's brusque and sometimes obnoxious manners wouldn't come as a shock. Rowan was genuinely fond of the sod, too. Perhaps Oghren's presence might actually do her some good if she got into a dark place with her memories.

Within days, the group of five were riding out of the Keep, Rowan's faithful mabari keeping pace with the horses easily. Nathaniel was mounted on the Amaranthine Charger stallion he had ridden from Denerim and claimed as his own and which the stable hands had nicknamed “Big Black”. Rowan was on the horse she'd named Silverite, the silvery grey Ferelden Forder mare with the black mane, tail, and legs. She sat up straight in the saddle, her chin up, looking every inch the Commander of the Grey and the Hero of Ferelden, despite how nervous and fretful he knew she was at the prospect of returning to the scene of the massacre. He wasn't especially looking forward to that, either, and he hoped the people of Highever wouldn't hold his father's actions against him.

Oghren was on the smallest horse they had, though even that was a bit of trouble for him. He needed a leg-up to get even one foot in the stirrup, and once mounted, he sat awkwardly, as most dwarves did on horseback. Nathaniel made a mental note to acquire some strong, sturdy ponies as he nodded to Ogrhen with a slight smile. The dwarf undoubtedly loved Rowan very much to be willing to ride a horse just to be with her. Nathaniel and the dwarf had their differences, but if there was one way to get to Nathaniel's approval, it was to love and want to protect Rowan.

 

~*~

 

To say that Rowan was not eager to return to Highever was putting it mildly. She had argued with Nathaniel, but while he was very gentle with her, he was unbending. In the end, she was swayed by his argument that he wanted her with him. This was a big deal for him, for both of them, really, if it turned out the boy in Highever was his son, and Nathaniel seemed to think it very likely.

Rowan wouldn't have admitted it out loud, but she was a little concerned about him meeting a woman who had not only been his lover but had borne him a child, and about what that might mean for everyone involved.

And, of course, returning to the site of the worst and most horrifying night of her life, a night which left her forever changed and not really for the better, filled her with cold dread. In the end, though, Nathaniel was right that she needed to start to come to terms with it.

The group of five rode until just before sundown and set up camp for the night. As usual, Nathaniel and Rowan offered to take the dawn watch together. The two of them would make tea and hot trail bread, so all the others had to do was eat, pack up their tents, rinse their dishes, and everyone could be on their way.

Before retiring, the mage, Melina, had conjured up a small ice storm, and they all gathered the chunks of ice, cleaned them off, and put them in various containers to melt. By morning, they'd have fresh water to drink, to wash their hands, to clean their teeth, and to make breakfast.

Rowan tried to participate in the usual campfire banter, but found she didn't have the heart for it. Nathaniel, too, was quiet, though he stayed near her and was often touching her in some subtle way to remind her he was there, and present, even if he was brooding. By the time Rowan and Nathaniel went to bed, she was feeling sick to her stomach at the thought of going back to Highever. They undressed each other quietly in the tent, sharing a few kisses and caresses as they did, but when they got into their shared bedroll, neither felt especially like making love, so they cuddled up like spoons with Rowan's back to Nathaniel's chest, and fell asleep together in the shared warmth and emotional comfort.

Rowan's sudden, sharp gasp and jolt as she woke from a nightmare roused Nathaniel, of course. It wasn't a Grey Warden nightmare, and he would know that. She turned to him in the dark and wrapped around him, tears streaming down her face, but she was otherwise quiet. Nathaniel held her tightly and kissed her face and didn't ask for details, probably because he could guess what it was about. Unlike their shared Grey Warden dreams, this couldn't be dispelled by mutual pleasure, and eventually, she fell back asleep in his arms, comforted, at least, by his presence.

Nathaniel and Rowan were up and dressed and eating breakfast when Oghren rolled out of his tent and stumbled into the woods to relieve himself. He did have the good grace to wash his hands, probably only because he knew Rowan would ask if he had.

“You all right?” Oghren asked when he made his way to the fire.

“What?” Rowan asked. “Oh. I'm...” She had been about to say she was fine, but this was Oghren, and as obnoxious as he could be, they were strangely kindred, no matter how confusing some people found that concept. “I'm feeling very nervous about seeing Highever again. Sleeping there. Nate and I may end up pitching a tent in a field somewhere near the castle, or getting a room at one of the inns in the city. We'll have to see how it goes.”

“It was quiet in your tent last night,” Oghren observed. “Not the usual thrashing around and trying to keep the noise to a minimum and all that. Don't tell me the shine is off the pickaxe already? It hasn't even been a year, has it?”

“Maybe you should worry about shining your own pickaxe, Oghren,” Nathaniel growled.

“Hey, relax, Howe,” Oghren chuckled. “Didn't mean to make you go all moody broody.”

Nathaniel scowled and Oghren grinned and pulled a bottle of ale out of his pack.

“That's enough, both of you,” Rowan said irritably. “Oghren, I do appreciate that you're trying to distract me, but please just stop.”

Oghren nodded. Uncharacteristically, he reached out and patted Rowan on the shoulder. “Yeah, all right. But you gotta admit, me talking about night time activities and making yer boyfriend go all dark and growly is better than leaving you to pickle in yer own juices about what happened to yer family. You look tired, like you didn't sleep, and not for good reasons. I can tell when you lost sleep having fun.” He chuckled again, and nudged her slightly with his elbow for emphasis.

“All right, fine,” Rowan sighed, but she did smile a little bit. “Go back to annoying Nathaniel if you must, but leave out our sex life, which is fine, thank you. Feel free to talk about your own, if you even have one. I mean, other than polishing your own pickaxe. I don't want to hear about that.”

“That's my girl,” Oghren chuckled, sounding very like a proud uncle. He winked at her, patted her on the shoulder once again, and then started shoving trail bread into his mouth and washing it down with the ale he'd brought with him.

Evon emerged from his tent and took care of his morning routine, including having a shave and a wash in the water basin before he ambled up to the fireside. He was his usual chipper self, blue eyes as bright as the morning sky, a pleasant smile on his face.

“Good morning, Evon,” Rowan said. “We have warm, fresh bread, jam and honey, and there's hot tea.”

“Thank you, ser. Sers.” He nodded to Oghren and added, “Sergeant.” It was the highest rank or title Oghren would accept, and he only took it because he liked being known as the drill sergeant. He always chuckled a little lewdly whenever he said it.

“Again, Evon,” Rowan said with a smile, “I will remind you that you do not have to call me _ser_ , nor address me by rank. You do know my name? You can call me Rowan. And Nathaniel answers to his name, too, and to Nate. Out on the road like this, there's no need for strict protocol.”

“Yes, ser, I know,” Evon answered with a grin as he pushed some of the floppy brown hair out of his face. “I have tried, but I just can't. But thank you all the same.”

Melina was the last to join them at the fire. She accepted a tin mug of tea from Nathaniel with a grateful smile and took the last portion of trail bread in her other hand.

“You look tired, Commander. Didn't you sleep well?” Melina asked. She was about Rowan's age, or perhaps a little younger, and had deep blue eyes set in a heart-shaped face, a naturally tan complexion, and dark brown hair that she wore in a short ponytail.

“Not really,” Rowan answered with a grimace. “Nightmares. Not the Grey Warden kind, either.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Melina asked kindly.

The mage had been raised an apostate, trained by her grandmother, who was a healer and a midwife, a hedge mage in a remote village on the Ferelden side of the Frostbacks. Melina was blessed with common sense and a way with people, and she was skilled with practical healing. Oddly, she did only very basic healing magic, at least for the time being. Rowan had the mages working together to learn new spells according to their own talents, but with an emphasis on healing whenever possible. Once again, Rowan thought she really needed to get up to Soldier's Peak and have the mages look through the archives and library there. Perhaps they could unlock something useful.

“Thank you, but I don't think talking about it will help,” Rowan answered. “You must have heard the story of my family perishing in the Highever Massacre? Well, I haven't been back to Highever since then. It's rather nerve wracking, enough that it's disturbing my sleep as well as my waking. The memories can be very... intrusive.”

“I can imagine,” Melina acknowledged with a serious expression. “I can make you a potion if you need it. Something to relax you? Or for, you know, headache or something?”

“Thanks,” Rowan said with a weak smile. “I might take you up on that later, though.”

“Anything I can do to help, Commander,” the mage answered.

“You can call me Rowan.”

“I know. It's just hard to think of the Hero of Ferelden having a first name, even if it is a royal one.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Rowan saw Evon nodding his head in agreement.

“Queen Rowan wasn't always a queen, you know. Her father was the Arl of Redcliffe, and Arl Eamon is her younger brother. She was only a queen because she married Maric. Of course, she was very instrumental in the war against Orlais. Without her, Ferelden might not have won and Maric might not have become king at all and we'd all be eating stinky cheese and wearing ridiculous masks and shoes with bows on them.”

Melina smiled. “You're well-named, then. Saving Ferelden, maybe the world, all of that. Must be hard to have all those heroic expectations on you. Is it?”

Rowan looked up with some surprise and nodded. “Sometimes. I don't mind it, exactly, but I do think the fuss is... unnecessary.”

“Come on, sweetheart,” Nathaniel said, not caring who heard him address her with a term of such intimate affection, “rinse your cup and the bread pan and you and I can start packing up the tents and supplies while the others finish their breakfast. I'd like to make Highever Castle before nightfall.”

Rowan nodded, but her stomach roiled at the thought. She hadn't eaten much breakfast. That was probably a good thing. What she had eaten was threatening to come back up.

They made good time to Highever. Nathaniel was mostly silent, lost to his own thoughts. and he only spoke when spoken to. Even Oghren couldn't get a rise out of him. So Melina and Rowan talked off and on, the kind of pleasant small talk of colleagues who didn't know each other well, but had decided to get to know each other better. As always, the commander thing got in the way, but Melina, at least, seemed willing to make the effort to put that aside and see the real person behind the titles. Rowan was grateful for that.

They did make the castle just before dusk, and Rowan dismounted and then stood staring at the big main gate, currently open. She was standing where Howe's soldiers and mercenaries had stood, forcing their way in with a battering ram. The gate had been repaired, of course. but she still heard the echoes of the ominous pounding and suddenly she was back there again. She saw Rory on the other side of the gate, trying to hold against the attackers with a handful of soldiers, a task he knew would lead to his own death, but which he hoped would save her and her mother by buying them some time to flee.

Rowan hadn't even realised she was crying, but the tears were running freely down her face as the memories of that night crowded around her, crushing her, threatening to smother her, blotting out her awareness of what was going on around her in the here and now. Nathaniel put an arm around her and wiped her face with his handkerchief. She took a shuddering breath and then buried her face in his neck, clinging to him, wishing for all the world she had remained in Amaranthine.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have PTSD (as well as panic/anxiety disorder). Mine is not related to any specific event, but just from having grown up in a dysfunctional family and later having been involved in a domestic violence situation. I'm mostly okay now because I've had a lot of therapy and put a lot of distance between myself and my abusers, but every now and then it still catches me off guard (usually it takes the form of anxiety/panic attacks, though; I only very rarely have flashbacks any more). 
> 
> Anyway, it's really hard to describe what a flashback feels like, but I'm going to make the effort. 
> 
> Also note that the first time someone returns to a place associated with their trauma, it can be excruciating, even debilitating, but once that ice is broken, it tends to get better. And, happily, Thedas is a magical place with interesting possibilities for healing and growth, and I really don't want to linger with poor Rowan's PTSD for longer than I have to (it's a little uncomfortable for me, but mostly I don't want to drag the story into endless woe that goes on and on; a little angst goes a long way as far as I'm concerned). In our own reality, it can take years and a lot of hard work to get past PTSD and various anxiety issues. It won't be that difficult for Rowan, thankfully. <3


	74. Flashbacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan struggles with her memories. 
> 
> Potential trigger warning for PTSD and some very strong survivor guilt and feelings related to that, plus Rowan actually gets physically sick (I know that's an uncommon trigger, but some people do have it, so I'll just mention it).

The Teyrn of Highever, himself, came out to greet them and brought servants to stable their horses and see to their baggage. Rowan was quaking as she pulled away from Nathaniel and ran to her brother when he appeared. He didn't hesitate to take her into his arms, rocking her against his chest and stroking her hair. He was whispering in her ear, telling her it was all right now, that it was all over, that she was safe. She was struggling not to sob, her throat aching from holding back. She hated that her Wardens and one of her soldiers were seeing her like this, but there was nothing she could do to stem the tide of vividly painful memories and emotions that overwhelmed her. By the time Fergus was leading her through the gates, his arm around her shoulders, she had soaked Nathaniel's handkerchief.

“Mistress Marks,” Fergus said as he paused to speak to a silver-haired woman, “please see to our guests and offer them every comfort. I will greet them, myself, once my sister is settled, but right now she is very much in need of some privacy. Please send wine to the south wing suite, along with a generous selection of food that can be eaten cold. Make sure to use Grey Warden portions, as we discussed.”

Nathaniel and Ser Barkley were right behind them as Fergus led Rowan to the guest wing, his arm still around her shoulders, holding her close despite the awkwardness of her leather armour. She walked with her arm around his waist, her head down, and made a point of not looking around much as they walked. She was dizzy and her heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would beat right out of her chest, and she didn't want to see anything that would trigger another wave of memories. Thankfully, Fergus had the good grace to take a roundabout way that avoided the great hall.

The east wing, traditionally reserved as a guest wing, appeared to have been largely undamaged in the attack, being away from the main part of the castle and, at the time of the massacre, unoccupied, the guests having rooms in the family wing or the barracks or the servant's quarters.

When Rowan was young, the east wing had been strictly off limits. And so, of course, she'd sneaked in on many occasions to look around and snoop in the guest rooms. Later, when she and Rory got to a point where they wanted real privacy, the east wing was often where they'd go, ducking into one of the unused rooms to fool around or just talk privately. They had never been quite brave enough to use the grand guest suite, though, and that was the suite Fergus had given her and Nathaniel.

Fergus sat Rowan down on the upholstered couch in front of the fire and put his arms around her and just held her. The mabari lay down quietly in front of the hearth, watching Rowan but otherwise still. Nathaniel sat in one of the chairs, nearby, but not interfering, and it was he who answered the knock when food and drink was brought and set out on the table.

“Sweetheart, do you want a drink?” he asked.

“Yes.”

The goblet ended up in her hand and somehow she was swallowing down what was probably quite nice wine, but she didn't really taste it at all.

“Easy, pup, you'll make yourself sick,” Fergus said gently.

“And that's on a mostly empty stomach,” Nathaniel added. “You haven't been eating much.”

She scoffed and put the empty goblet on the floor and put her head back on her brother's shoulder.

“I'm so sorry about all of this, Fergus,” Rowan said eventually. “I should be making introductions and putting my people at ease and all that. But you already know Oghren, and he can introduce you to the others, or you can just introduce yourself. Evon will 'my lord' and 'ser' you to death, just so you know.” A little smile crept over her face at the thought, but it quickly fled. “I just... it came back in such vivid... it was... I could _hear_ the battering ram. And Rory... he...”

Maker, she felt utterly out of control. Emotions, at least her own, were difficult for her to sort out at the best of times, and right now she felt like she was drowning in them, all of them conflicting and creating a whirlpool that threatened to drag her under.

“I understand,” Fergus assured her, hugging her. “I'm sure everyone does.”

“I never told you what happened to Rory,” she sighed. “I told you about our parents, but... Ser Roland Gilmore died trying to hold the gates against the battering ram with a handful of other soldiers. I begged him to come with us, but he wouldn't. He said he needed to stay, to give Mother and me time to escape, but then Mother, of course, insisted on staying with Father as he was dying. I told you that much. She died fighting, though, and she probably bought me the time I needed to get away. I think I was probably the only person to escape, other than Duncan. Maybe someone else made it but I don't know how they could have. Maker, it's so hard to live with sometimes. I thought I had started to make peace with it, but it's all coming back now, and I can practically smell the blood and the ash and hear the screams of the servants and the crackling of the fires... Rory should have been the Grey Warden, not me. He wanted it. He would have been a fine Warden. I should have stayed with Mother and...” She let her voice trail off and closed her eyes. What was even the point of speaking?

“The massacre was... very thorough,” Fergus said quietly. “It's a miracle that you got out alive. You were meant to survive.”

She grunted. That didn't make her feel any better. Being the almost sole survivor of a massacre was nothing to celebrate. She felt ashamed and guilty about having lived when so many others died. People could say she was destined to survive and to defeat the archdemon, and if you believed in destiny, that was well and good, but she was still wracked with shame for not dying. Most of the time she could suppress it and get on with things, but right now, it was so present it was impossible to put it aside. Oh, Maker, why had she let Loghain talk her into letting him take that final blow against the archdemon? She should have died. She should be dead now.

“When I first came back to Highever,” Fergus said, “I had to survey the damage. Howe had ordered some repairs, but only some. It was gut-wrenching. I was absolutely wracked with rage and with guilt and with sorrow. It nearly crushed me. Let me just say that that the old family wing has been emptied of its contents and closed off now. I couldn't bear to go there, where Oriana... and Oren...”

“I found them,” Rowan said, her voice barely a whisper. “That night. I still see them like that, sometimes, in nightmares. And Lady Landra... You know, until that night, I had never killed a person. I killed plenty that night, though, and I've been doing it ever since. I can't even estimate how many people I've killed at this point. I sometimes feel like that night turned me into a murderer. I was supposed to die, and I didn't and now I'm some kind of vessel of death.”

“Sweetheart,” Nathaniel asked gently, “will you eat something? You really should.”

Rowan shook her head, but he walked to the platter of food, anyway, and then came over to the couch and sat down on the other side of her holding meat and cheese and a small pickled cucumber stuffed into a roll he'd split open. He offered it to her, but she refused.

Nathaniel motioned to the spot beside her on the couch, and Rowan adjusted her position so she was still leaning on Fergus, but her brother removed his arm and took her hand, and Nathaniel sat down and took hold of her other hand before he bit into the roll.

“When it starts to overwhelm you, breathe, slow and steady,” Fergus suggested. “It's easy to forget to breathe, or to breathe too fast. When it starts to get to you, think about breathing, about inhaling and exhaling, deeply, slowly, steadily. Focus on that. It can help. Now, tell me what I can do to help you, right here and now.”

“I don't know,” Rowan sighed. “Just... I'm going to have to go around and see the place, see what's been changed. I'm going nowhere near the old old family wing, but maybe... How bad is the library?”

“Not good,” Fergus admitted, “though it's been cleaned up. Most of the general books were burned. But the back room, the little study where the rare editions were, came through surprisingly well. Howe's men didn't ransack the books because he apparently intended to live here after the war was over as the Teyrn of Highever, or so I understand.” The disgust in her brother's voice was unmistakable. Rowan felt the same way.

Fergus kissed her on the temple. “We Couslands are made of sturdy stuff,” he said. “You've already survived the horror. The memories of it are only echoes. You'll survive them, too, and in time, they'll be less... present.”

Rowan looked at Fergus and took comfort from the certainty on his face, in his eyes. This wasn't idle talk of comfort, it was experience, both personal and as a commander. She started to answer him, but suddenly felt surprisingly weary and extremely light headed. “I think I'd better lie down,” she said.

“That's a good idea,” Fergus said. “Get some rest, now, pup. I'll take care of your people, make them feel right at home. I'll post a guard in the corridor, and if you need anything, just let them know. Nate, do what you're good at and take my sister to bed.”

Rowan managed a chuckle and Nathaniel got to his feet, took her hands, and pulled her upright and into his arms. He steered her in the direction of the four poster bed while Fergus slipped out of the room and quietly shut the door behind him.

She started to unbuckle her armour but Nathaniel's hands were there in a flash. “Let me do that for you.”

“Oh, Nate, my love,” Rowan said sadly. “This must be hard for you, too. Being here, knowing what you know now.”

“What hurts the most is seeing your distress,” he said. “If my father wasn't already dead, I'd kill him for that, alone.”

He stripped her down to the skin and pulled back the covers. “Get in. I'm going to lock the door and I'll be right there with you as soon as I get my things off, all right?”

When he was naked and in the bed with her, he drew her into his arms and kissed her face. It was neither erotic nor seductive. Rather, it was passionate and loving and gentle, and every touch of his lips communicated his caring concern. Rowan loved this side of him, the nurturing, tender, emotional side. She loved every side of him, truth be told. Even when he was angry, or brooding, or strutting around like the arrogant prat he could still sometimes be, she loved him. She had loved Alistair, she had loved Rory, but that all paled in comparison to the way she loved Nathaniel.

“Tell me what you're feeling,” he said quietly. “You were talking about Rory. Want to share that with me?”

“Oh, Maker,” she said tiredly. “I wanted to be with him. I wanted to marry him. But he gave up on us. On me.”

“What do you mean? I've seen the ring you still wear. It was some sort of promise ring from him, wasn't it? A token of future betrothal, something like that?”

“It was. We used to talk about getting married. I have properties as part of my dowry, you see, and some of them are full bannorns, so he could have been a bann a few times over if he'd married me. We used to talk about that, where we'd live, how many children we'd raise, how many mabaris we'd have. It was all going to be so wonderful. I thought he wanted that. And I guess he did when he was seventeen but...”

Nathaniel leaned in and rubbed his long nose against hers affectionately. “You've never told me the whole story. Maybe now is the time to do that?”

“Yes, all right,” she agreed, too tired to control her feelings and needing to speak her heart. “After my father... intervened, Rory changed. He was friendly, he was kind, he was attentive, but he held himself back from me. It wasn't like before. At first, I could still persuade him to spar with me, but he eventually started making excuses and then outright refusing. And he would never be alone with me at all, even in the most innocent of circumstances. I thought that he was being honourable, and I suppose he was, but...”

“You think he should have defied your father's wishes?”

“No. He was sworn from a young age to my father's service. I understood that. It's just that my father told me that I would have many opportunities and options when I was fully of age. I took that to mean that I would have my choice of husband when I was older, and so I decided to just bide my time until I could have what I wanted. And that was Rory, but by the time I was fully an adult in all respects, he didn't seem to want me.”

“Do you know what your father told him?” Nathaniel asked gently.

“No. But... you know, one of the last conversations I had with Rory was about him joining the Grey Wardens. I was hurt, because he was so excited about the prospect, and he was talking about how I had so many options, so many opportunities, and he really didn't. By this time, we hadn't been romantically involved for years, but I'd been patiently waiting for an opportunity to be with him for real, for good, and there he was, talking about leaving his old life behind if he was recruited to the Wardens. All I could think was how he must regard me as part of his old life, even though I was standing right there, talking to him. He seemed almost happy to be rid of me.”

“No,” Nathaniel said with quiet conviction. “No. The opportunity to be a Grey Warden was not only a chance to serve honourably and for a profoundly good cause, it also offered him an opportunity to go where he didn't have to be tempted by you all the time.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Well, I can't claim to speak for him, but I can speak as a man who loves you, and I don't believe that anyone who has ever loved you would be able to walk away from you without missing you. I think he did love you, and he did want you, but he believed he couldn't have you. Or that he shouldn't. I have some experience with that, myself, you know.”

Rowan shut her eyes. The room was spinning. The wine had gone right to her head, and now she felt genuinely sick.

“Oh, Maker, Nate, why did you make me come back to Highever?”

Nathaniel started to tighten his grip in a hug, but she struggled and ordered him to let her go before leaping out of the bed and rushing to the privy just in time to throw up. Nathaniel was with her right away as she hung her head over the foul smelling latrine, which just made the nausea worse. Her hair was, thankfully, in a plait down the back, but there were strands around her face and Nathaniel brushed them back while she heaved again, bringing up bits of whatever was still left in her stomach from the midday meal mixed with the wine she'd drunk so hastily. One more heave, this time empty, painful, and she felt like she could sit back on the floor, catching her breath.

“Finished?” Nathaniel asked kindly.

“I think so.”

“Come on, sweetheart, let me help.”

She took the hand he held out and let him pull her up and then he walked her to the dresser with his arm tightly around her waist. Still holding her, he poured water from the ewer into the basin and dipped a cloth into it and then carefully wiped her face, gently, tenderly. He didn't just wipe her mouth, but her forehead and her cheeks, and each of her eyes, then down her neck before he rinsed the cloth and rubbed it gently around her lips.

“Thank you,” she managed to say, and he kissed her cheek before he put the cloth on the edge of the basin and scooped her up in his arms.

“You look like you're about to collapse. Let me do as the lord of the castle ordered and take you to bed, hmm?” He carried her easily to the bed and lay her gently on the sheet and climbed in beside her. She turned onto her side with her back to him, he pulled the covers up over them both and cuddled up to her protectively. “Rest now, my love,” he said. “I've got your back."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She'll feel better soon. Thedas is a magickal place, with all kinds of possibilities. 
> 
> FWIW, nausea as a response to a PTSD flashback or panic attack is a real thing. Also, I touched on a little survivor guilt, which is another actual thing. Rowan isn't really suicidal, but she sometimes leans that way when the survivor guilt overwhelms her. I don't think the thoughts of "I should have died" are close enough to suicidal to put in a trigger warning for that, but if anyone thinks it's appropriate, I'll add a tag.
> 
> Oh, and, yes, Nathaniel is the kind of partner who holds your hair when you throw up. We all know this by this point, but as I was writing it, I just thought, "Yeah, there it is."


	75. Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan has a visitation. 
> 
> Warning: This made me cry when I wrote it. It made me cry when I edited it. In fact, it made me cry about the first four times I revisited it. I don't know if it will have that effect on anyone else, but you've been warned. Get some tissues, just in case. ;)

“Rory? Is that you?” Rowan asked in wonder. He looked just as he had: tall, broad shouldered, dark red hair falling across his forehead into his freckled face, light green eyes twinkling, his mouth drawn into the charming grin Rowan had always loved.

“So, you became a Grey Warden and the hero of the Blight. I'm so proud of you, princess. I always knew you were destined for greatness.”

“Rory, forgive me, but aren't you supposed to be... dead?”

He laughed. “It's not as simple as you might think. I've been wanting to talk to you for a long time, but it was too hard to make the connection. You have walls around you, like a fortress. This is the first you've let down your defences, and I don't think you even did it on purpose. It's from being at Highever.”

“Oh, Rory, I've missed you so much. That night, the night you... We could have been together. Duncan would have taken you, made you a Grey Warden. I'm sure of it.”

“Oh, princess,” he said, sadly. “We all have to die some day, and I couldn't think of a better way to die than saving you. Death can't end love. When you wear the ring I gave you, I know you remember that.”

“How do you know about the ring?”

“I live in your heart,” he answered simply, as if that explained everything.

“You do,” she agreed as a wave of bittersweet emotion washed over her. “Do you know about Alistair?”

“Of course,” Rory answered with a gentle smile. “He made you laugh, and he gave you comfort and focus when you might have lost all direction. But when push came to shove, you put your duty above all because that's just who you are. You thought he knew you, and you thought he would understand. You learned the hard way about decisions having unforeseen consequences, and it's made you a better commander.”

“I wish I had understood what he meant when he said that the Grey Wardens were like his family. He tried to tell me, but I didn't understand then,” Rowan admitted with a heavy sigh. “Alistair saw my decision to conscript Loghain as me condoning the death of Duncan and the Grey Wardens, I know that now, but I that's not at all how I saw it. I was just being practical and trying to use all the resources at my disposal, and making someone a Grey Warden is no mercy. It still looks like an impossible situation, but if I had known...”

“You can't blame yourself for what you didn't know. Isn't that what you tell Nathaniel?”

“Yes.”

“Nathaniel understands why I gave up my life defending the gates. He would do the same. He always has your back.”

“I know.”

“He wants and needs to know his son. Support him in that, and he will love you all the more for it. The boy's mother is no threat to you, nor is the boy. Nathaniel is committed to you, heart and soul, as it's meant to be.”

“I know he is,” she answered, her voice feeling strangely broken as she spoke, choking with emotion.

“You should marry him. It would make you happy, as well as him.”

“I can't.”

“Because of me?”

“You, but also Alistair. I can't take another loss like that.”

“That makes no sense, princess. What are you afraid of? That if you agree to marry Nathaniel, he'll disappear in a puff of smoke?”

“It sounds ridiculous when you put it that way.”

“Because it is ridiculous. You're afraid to commit completely. You hold back, just a little, because you feel like it gives you some measure of control, but it really doesn't.”

She frowned and then paused for what felt like a long time.

“Rory... why did you give up on us? When we had to... wait, I was biding my time. I told you that, and you... All those suitors, but I wanted you. And you gave up on us.”

“You didn't want to marry any of them,” he pointed out, “and I was a convenient excuse in your own mind. But I didn't give up on us, I let you go. Once I truly understood how many opportunities and possibilities you did have, I couldn't hold you back. I didn't have much to offer you apart from my love, and I never withdrew that. I've never stopped loving you. But, princess, you know in your heart that you and I were never really going to be together for always. I just knew it before you did.”

“No,” Rowan protested, despite the sinking realisation that he was right, “we could have married. You know that. You could have been a bann two or three times over.”

“Oh, princess, you're so stubborn,” Rory sighed. “You will not understand until you step away from the picture you painted with your pain and your sorrow and your confusion. I loved you, I still love you, and I will always love you, but I was never your equal. I could never stand up to you, even when I knew you were wrong. I would have given in and backed down every time you raised your voice. I was never the man who could go toe-to-toe and nose-to-nose and blow-for-blow with you. And neither was Alistair, not with you.”

Rowan grunted. “When Alistair finally found his mettle, he used it to humiliate me in front of the entire assembled bannorn.”

“I know,” Rory said sympathetically. “I know how deeply it wounded your pride and shook your confidence, and especially your trust. But you know in your heart that he acted out of immaturity and in the heat of the moment. Forgive him.”

“What he did was unforgivable,” she argued.

“Princess, forgiveness is for you, not him. You hold a grudge against Alistair because he broke your heart, but you're hurting yourself by maintaining the anger and the pain. It's like you're drinking poison and expecting him to die from it.”

“Oh, Rory, why did have to leave me?” she asked mournfully. “If you had lived, if you had come with me...” Rowan wanted desperately to take Rory into her arms and lean into him like she used to do so long ago, but she felt like she couldn't move. Odd.

“I never left you, princess. I still live in your heart. Forgive me for letting you think I didn't want to be with you. Forgive Alistair for the outburst that cost you both so dearly. Be with the man who _is_ your match. You and Nathaniel were made to be together.”

Rowan looked at Rory's calm, smiling face and wondered why he was telling her this. And he seemed... Well, he seemed exactly like Rory, and yet... She tried to reach out to take his hand and found, once again, that she couldn't move. That was when the realisation dawned on her.

“Are we in the Fade?” she asked.

“Of course,” Rory answered with a grin. “How else could I be talking to you? You're dreaming, asleep in the embrace of true love.”

Of course she was. The inability to move, the weird, round-and-round meandering conversation, Rory's apparent ability to know things he shouldn't really know, it all fell into place. And yet, it still felt like Rory, and it seemed it was really him. The Fade was a strange place.

“Are you a spirit?” Rowan asked.

“I'm Rory, I'm yours, and I live in your heart,” he smiled. “And I will love you, princess, always.”

“I will always love you,” Rowan said sadly, tears running down her face as he faded from her. She became more aware of the arm that was slung across her body and the warm body against her back. She sniffled. Her face was wet. She had woken up crying.

“I'm here, sweetheart,” came Nathaniel's rich voice, rough and slurred from sleep. He was so attuned to her it was almost uncanny. He was a light sleeper, but all she'd done was sniffle loudly and maybe sighed, yet he was awakened by it, ready to help if he could. He was more than she deserved. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Just a dream,” she said, and took a shuddering breath.

“Talk about it?”

“No.”

“Can I help?”

“Just hold me. And love me.”

“Always,” he said, tightening his grip on her and kissing her shoulder.

“I love you,” she murmured.

Rowan sniffled once more and drifted slowly back to sleep, feeling strangely at peace in a way she had not for a very long time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also recommend listening to [Bon Jovi's "Always"](https://youtu.be/9BMwcO6_hyA) for extra emotional impact. (The lyrics aren't quite a perfect match, and the video really has nothing to do with it, but enough of the song works... *sniffle* I won't be able to listen to that song again without thinking of Rory.)
> 
> This Romeo is bleeding  
> But you can't see his blood  
> It's nothing but some feelings  
> That this old dog kicked up
> 
> It's been raining since you left me  
> Now I'm drowning in the flood  
> You see I've always been a fighter  
> But without you I give up
> 
> Now I can't sing a love song  
> Like the way it's meant to be  
> Well, I guess I'm not that good anymore  
> But, baby, that's just me
> 
> And I will love you, baby, always  
> And I'll be there forever and a day, always  
> I'll be there 'til the stars don't shine  
> 'Til the heavens burst and the words don't rhyme  
> And I know when I die,  
> You'll be on my mind  
> And I'll love you always
> 
> Now your pictures that you left behind  
> Are just memories of a different life  
> Some that made us laugh, some that made us cry  
> One that made you have to say goodbye  
> What I'd give to run my fingers through your hair  
> To touch your lips, to hold you near  
> When you say your prayers, try to understand  
> I've made mistakes, I'm just a man
> 
> When he holds you close, when he pulls you near  
> When he says the words you've been needing to hear  
> I'll wish I was him 'cause those words are mine  
> To say to you 'til the end of time
> 
> Yeah, I will love you, baby, always  
> And I'll be there forever and a day, always
> 
> If you told me to cry for you  
> I could  
> If you told me to die for you  
> I would  
> Take a look at my face  
> There's no price I won't pay  
> To say these words to you
> 
> Well, there ain't no luck  
> In these loaded dice  
> But, baby, if you give me just one more try  
> We can pack up our old dreams and our old lives  
> We'll find a place where the sun still shines
> 
> And I will love you, baby, always  
> And I'll be there forever and a day, always  
> I'll be there 'til the stars don't shine  
> 'Til the heavens burst and the words don't rhyme  
> And I know when I die,  
> You'll be on my mind  
> And I'll love you, always


	76. Jess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jess the Tailor is surprised to see a long, lost lover and Nathaniel gets his first glimpse of Jess' son.

“Jess?” said a male voice from the door of her shop.

She was finishing the fine detail on a shirt for one of the wealthier merchants in town and her focus was on the fine stitching, so she didn't look up.

“Yes?” she answered without moving her eyes from her work.

“I... do you... recognise me?” the man stammered, searching for words. The voice was achingly familiar, like an old song from long ago. She did look up then, and her jaw went slack.

Standing in the doorway of her shop, looking at her with the long-lashed, hooded grey eyes she remembered well, was none other than Nathaniel Howe. He had matured, was more filled out, and not as rangy he'd been when she saw him last, though she thought he might be just a little taller. He still had the goatee patch of dark hair below his lower lip. His long, dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and he was dressed in black leathers, armed with daggers at his hips. He looked remarkably good, still as smoulderingly attractive as he ever was, maybe more.

“Nathaniel,” she managed to say.

“I was afraid you wouldn't remember me.”

“I could never forget you,” she said honestly. Every time she looked at her son, she saw Nathaniel. “What... Why are you here?”

“Ah. That's a long story. The teyrn is here with me,” Nathaniel said, stepping aside so she could see that Fergus Cousland was standing casually outside the door with a small company of Highever guards, chatting to some of the locals. “I think you and I need to talk. The teyrn would like to invite you to the castle for a few days. And also... your son...”

There had been a few people in Highever over the years who had commented on Tristan's looks, all of them women who had dallied with Nathaniel Howe on one or another of his visits. Jess, however, never spoke of Nathaniel to anyone, nor did she ever reveal her son's paternity, mostly for fear of Rendon Howe and what he would do if he knew his son's bastard lived and thrived. She had never had any reason to think that Rendon Howe was spending the time or effort to keep tabs on her, but she didn't care to take any risks where her son was concerned.

Jess narrowed her eyes. “If you've come here to try to take him away from me...”

Nathaniel raised both his hands, palms toward her, in a gesture of peace. He looked almost hurt.

“No! No, I would never take your son from you. What must you think of me?” He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, then opened them to continue. “Jess, I'm so sorry about... I didn't know. When I returned to Vigil's Keep from Highever, I had no idea where you had gone, and no one would tell me. My father sent me off to the Free Marches not long after he sent you away, and I only returned to Ferelden after his death. I learned very recently where you were because Fergus met you and your son and... Please, come to the castle where we can speak of all this. Even if you don't trust me, you can trust the teryn, yes? Tell all your friends and neighbours where you're going if you like. I mean you no harm, Jess, and I certainly don't want to see any harm come to your son. Please, let me do what I can to make amends.”

He looked so sorrowful and earnest, she couldn't help but believe his sincerity. He had been reckless in his youth, arrogant, careless, moody, and an unrepentant skirt chaser, but he'd never been mean-spirited or cruel, unlike his father.

Furthermore, he was accompanied by none other than the Teyrn of Highever and he was in that man's good graces, so that bode well. If Nathaniel had truly been over the sea for so many years, he was probably blameless in his father's crimes. In fact, if he had played any part in them, particularly the massacre, Jess felt certain that the teyrn would have struck him down and stuck Nathaniel Howe's head on a pike.

“Yes, all right,” she said eventually, meeting his gaze directly. “I'll accompany you to the castle at the teyrn's invitation.”

Nathaniel smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. That was new, and attractive.

“I'll have to get Tristan,” she said.

“Tristan?”

“My son.” _Our son_ , she wanted to say, but at this point, that seemed inappropriate. Best to wait and see what Nathaniel wanted first.

Nathaniel nodded and then gave one of those half smiles that used to make her heart flip over itself.

“Tristan,” he repeated. “Do you need any help or anything? You should probably pack some clothes and whatever other things you'll need for a few days. Where is he? Tristan, I mean.”

She smiled at the way Nathaniel said their son's name, like he was tasting it, trying it out, weighing it on his tongue.

Jess had grown up without a father, and her mother had died when she was young, so Jess had never had a proper family, but she had always wanted her son to have one, to have a father, especially. There had been men who wanted to marry her, but they'd all been more interested in her than in her son, and while most had been amenable enough to taking on the role of stepfather, Tristan was never their priority. She didn't want that kind of second-best status for her son in his own family.

But now, much to her surprise, here was her son's own father, standing before her in the flesh, apologising to her, asking about Tristan, inviting her to the teyrn's castle. Jess still didn't fully understand what he wanted, but perhaps there was a chance that Tristan could have a relationship with is own father?

“There's a bowyer just up the street,” she answered. “Tristan helps out there, fletching arrows, that sort of thing. The boy has clever fingers, and he's quite good with a bow.”

Nathaniel's face split into an almost boyish grin. “Is he?”

Jess nodded, unable to stop herself from smiling.

“I'll just go upstairs and pack a bag for the two of us, then,” she said. “Wait here.”

When she came down, Nathaniel was looking around her shop, and he turned to her, smiling. “You've done well for yourself, then?” he asked. “You seem to be well appointed here.”

“I've been very fortunate. I befriended Martin, the old tailor. He was a widower, no children of his own, and he needed someone to look after things, cooking and cleaning and such, and I needed a safe place to live, especially with a baby on the way. Martin took me in and became like a father to me, and a grandfather to Tristan. Martin taught me his trade, and when he died, he left everything to me, including this property. I still miss the old man. So does Tristan.” She shrugged as if to shake off the sadness, though it didn't really help.

“Here, let me take that bag for you,” Nathaniel said, reaching out a hand.

“Oh, no, my lord,” she said. “I can't let you do that.”

“I'm not a lord now. I can carry a bag for you,” he said with a smirk, and he took it from her hand without her giving it to him. For a man who wasn't a lord, he certainly still had the bearing and the presence of one. “Come on. You should go and collect Tristan.”

In the bowyer's shop, Jess found her son carefully wrapping fine, strong thread around the feathers on an arrow, humming to himself and tapping his heels on the stool as he worked. The bowyer was nearby, a middle aged man with a ruddy complexion and greying hair that was once the colour of straw. He was busy working a prepared piece of wood, gently coaxing it into the shape of a bow.

“Master Ludo,” Jess greeted the bowyer, making Tristan snap his head up in surprise at the sound of his mother's voice. “I'm afraid I'm going to have to deprive you of your assistant for a few days. He and I have an unexpected invitation to the castle, if you can believe that.”

“Oh, I can believe it,” Ludo answered. “The teyrn undoubtedly knows good tailoring when he sees it. Word is his sister's come to visit, first time since that night. Maybe he wants you to make her something special?”

This was how the locals referred to the Highever Massacre. They simply said “that night” and everyone knew exactly which night it was. Likewise, everyone in Highever knew the Hero of Ferelden, whether or not they had met her. She was one of their own, Highever born and bred from a long and distinguished line of Highever stock. It was a genuine point of pride.

“The Hero of Ferelden is here?” Jess asked.

“That's the word in the city square,” Ludo replied. “One of the kitchen maids from the castle was in the market this morning and my Glenda was there and heard her talking about it.”

“Well, I need to get to the market more often, clearly,” Jess said with a smile. “Give my regards to Glenda and the boys. Come on, then, Tristan.”

Tristan put the arrow carefully on the work bench and nodded to Master Ludo. “I guess I'll see you later, Master.”

“Aye, that's fine, lad. Have fun, and behave yourself, eh? But you always do. You're a good boy as well as a clever one.”

The boy beamed and Jess had to smile as they left the bowyer's shop, always appreciative of Ludo's kindness to her son.

The Teyrn of Highever was standing outside in the market, chatting with the townsfolk, while Nathaniel stood back quietly amongst the Highever soldiers. Fergus Cousland turned and smiled warmly at Jess. The teyrn was a handsome man. Jess thought so every time she saw him.

“My Lord Cousland,” Jess said, dropping a curtsey. “This is Tristan, my son.”

The boy looked slightly awestruck but managed to bow from the waist as Jess had taught him to do in the presence of nobility.

“Hello, Tristan, it's nice to meet you,” the teryn said with a friendly, fatherly smile. “Shall we go? You can walk with me, if you like. Tell me about yourself. What sort of things do you like to do?”

Jess watched Nathaniel and the way his eyes followed her son. Their son. The boy was the spitting image of his father; all he took from her was his brown eyes. The rest was all Nathaniel, and judging by the look on Nathaniel's face, he was struck by the likeness.

As if sensing that Jess was watching him, Nathaniel turned and glanced at her and smiled, and Jess smiled in return.

_Maker, please, for the sake of my son, let this, whatever it is, work to the good for everyone._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I left the previous chapter on a very emotional note with Rowan, but I thought a bit of a breather was in order (and don't worry, she's safe and sound and Nathaniel didn't leave her alone). There are several things going on at the same time here, and I couldn't put them all in the same chapter easily. I did play with the sequences a little to see, but I just felt like this worked out the best as far as the pacing, etc.


	77. Love, Hope, and Joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan talks to Melina and Nathaniel broods happily. (Yeah, that's possible.)

Rowan was curled up on the couch in the grand east wing suite, a mug of tea cupped in her hands. The dream of Rory had left a strange, indelible impression on her, along with a kind of lingering, deep comfort, and she felt shockingly well. She couldn't help but feel that she had somehow honestly spoken with Rory, but at the same time, it wasn't really Rory, or, at least, not entirely so. Some sort of Fade spirit, perhaps? She knew of Faith, and of Justice. She supposed there must be others; this certainly hadn't felt like either of those.

Melina was with her, having come to check on her after breakfast, given yesterday's distress. It was good that Melina did come around, because Nathaniel had been hesitant to leave. Both Rowan and Melina had assured him that it was fine, however, so he'd been persuaded to go off to take care of his business in Highever.

Rowan had searched her memories all morning, trying to recall everything Wynne had ever said about spirits, but she couldn't think of anything specific enough for what she wanted to know. She decided to ask Melina if she knew much about spirits of the Fade.

“Oh, yes. Granny was particularly sensitive to spirits. I believe she was Avaar, that she came from one of the clans in the Frostbacks, but she would never tell me for sure. I always got the impression it was something to do with my grandfather, like maybe he was a lowlander, and her clan didn't approve or something like that. Anyway, she taught me the ways of the Avaar mages.”

“So what did your Avaar granny teach you about spirits?”

“Well, there are spirits for all kind of things. Pretty much anything people feel and experience. It has to do with the way the Fade reflects and the waking world. There's Faith, which you've mentioned, and Justice, of course.”

Melina had certainly heard all about the spirit of Justice which had once inhabited the body of a dead Grey Warden and assisted the Wardens for a time.

She continued, “There are also spirits of Compassion, Love, Wisdom, Knowledge, Generosity, Hope, Patience, Duty, Honour, Joy, Valour, Charisma... Probably something like Command... and Leadership, I would guess... It's hard to say, but the impression I have always had is that anything is possible. Anyway, some spirits are rare, some are common. My grandmother insisted that everyone, mage or not, attracts spirits that follow them and look out for them, influencing them, even if they're unaware of it. I can sometimes sense spirits around people, so I think it may be true, though I can't say how much influence is going on or not. Some people also have demons doing the same thing. And that is quite troubling, but it does explain a lot of things about the world we live in and how some people can think and do the things they do.”

“So you're you sensitive to spirits?” Rowan asked, and thought vaguely that she should be alarmed by this thought, but Rowan wasn't concerned. She'd spent a great deal of time with Wynne and her Faith spirit, and later with Justice, and she'd met some other sort of spirit being or beings when she found the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Rowan was more than aware of how dangerous demons could be, and she'd killed her share of them, as well as abominations, but she simply couldn't believe that all spirits were dangerous or that all abominations were automatically monsters. Wynne certainly hadn't been, and the old woman had hinted that there was far more to the picture than the Chantry or the Circles were letting on, or maybe knew about.

“I am spirit sensitive, yes. Not as much as Granny was, but, yes.”

Rowan nodded. “The reason I ask is that I had a dream last night that was like nothing else I've ever experienced. A visitation of sorts. It seemed... very real.”

“Really? What was it?” Melina asked, her blue eyes wide with interest.

“Rory, my first love. He was a knight. He died in the massacre.”

“Oh,” Melina said sadly. She reached out and put a hand on Rowan's arm in a gesture of comfort. “I'm so sorry.”

“Thank you,” Rowan acknowledged. “The dream was... Honestly, the details probably aren't important. What is important is that he was very helpful, and it was healing. He told me things that rang true and I remember some of them, but some of the things he said are faded now. I feel as if I know what he said and exactly what we talked about, but I just can't remember it, if that makes sense.”

“It does,” Melina assured her.

“I did work out that I was in the Fade, and I asked if he was a spirit. His answer was... unclear. I honestly don't know if he was figment of my own imagination, or if it was really Rory in some sense, or if it was a spirit, or...”

“Did he offer you anything? Try to entice you or...”

“No. He mostly talked about love and... forgiveness. He told me that he lives in my heart and that he would always love me.” Rowan's eyes promptly filled with tears. She didn't even bother to try hiding them or blinking them away.

“That's lovely,” Melina said sincerely. “And I can't say who or what you met with, but it sounds quite wonderful. I don't even know what it would be like to be loved like that, but there are so many people who love you.”

“Most of them don't even know me,” Rowan answered.

“Possibly, but most people who do know you love you. And those who don't know you still know what you did, and that you did it for them, and they love you for that. I know you're prickly about the Hero of Ferelden title and all the expectations that go with it, but you should accept people's love, even if you think it's misplaced. It isn't to them. And you deserve to be loved, while those who love you deserve to be acknowledged and have their love returned.”

“Now you sound like Rory. Or whoever or whatever was in my dream.”

“Do I? That's very interesting,” Melina said thoughtfully. “I don't really know what made me say those things. It just felt like the right thing to say. Like I was inspired, you could say. And I think it's true, anyway. We all deserve to be loved.”

“I'll have to think about this. Maybe I'll dream of Rory again. Or perhaps my mother. I'd love to talk to my mother again,” Rowan admitted with a deep, sad sigh. “Once I encountered a... well... I suppose it was a spirit, but I don't know. It was in the form of my father, part of the series of tests to reach the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

“Ohhh, tell me about that,” Melina said excitedly. “I've heard the story second and third hand, but not from you. It's not really the sort of story you tell over Wicked Grace, is it?”

Rowan chuckled. “No, the one about Isabela the pirate captain is more appropriate for that, but I've told that one so many times now I'll have to retire it, I think. All right, then. Sacred Ashes. Where do you want me to start?”

“At the beginning, of course,” Melina answered with a grin, and Rowan couldn't help but smile.

“All right. The beginning it is. But first just let me get another cup of tea.”

 

~*~

 

Nathaniel watched his son all the way back to Highever Castle, listening in on the conversation the boy was having with Fergus. The teyrn was a natural, and Tristan was completely at ease very quickly, talking about his interests and hobbies and things he had learned.

Nathaniel had not expected such a profound and visceral reaction to seeing his son, but it had hit him immediately and it had hit hard. Tristan looked just like Nathaniel had at that age, his dark hair pulled back off his face into a short ponytail, the Howe nose, the same strong jaw and cheekbones, the same long, rectangular face. His hooded eyes were brown, but otherwise, the boy was Nathaniel in miniature. Even the way he walked was strikingly familiar. There was absolutely no doubt in Nathaniel's mind that Tristan was his son.

As for Tristan's mother, Jess was older and more careworn, as one would expect, but she was still beautiful, her very womanly curves more lush now, the auburn hair she had pulled into a low bun untouched by grey. Nathaniel wondered why she wasn't married. He would have expected that an attractive woman with property and an income of her own would have no trouble finding a decent and respectable husband. He could understand that she wouldn't want to marry while she was still living with Martin the tailor, not wanting to leave him on his own. Perhaps she was still grieving.

Thank the Maker she had found a safe place with Martin, and that Tristan had been raised in comfort and love. Having a good and decent and loving grandfather figure might make up somewhat for Tristan having to come to terms with it when he learned that his paternal grandfather was none other than the Butcher of Denerim and the man behind the Highever Massacre.

At first, he had just wanted to know that Jess was safe, and that her son was safe. Now, having seen his son with his own eyes, Nathaniel was overwhelmed by the force of his emotions, and he was suddenly desperate to know his son. He had believed he'd never be a father, and he'd been at peace with that, but to learn he did have a child, and one who looked like him and was learning how to fletch arrows because he was good with a bow...

Nathaniel resolved that he was going to make sure that the Howe bow was passed on to Tristan if at all possible, no matter how things worked out. He had thought to leave it to Dane, but Nathaniel had no way of knowing if Dane would have any interest or talent for archery. But Tristan already did, so that was settled.

Next, Nathaniel's mind wandered to just what was involved in formally recognising the boy as his own, and giving him his name, but then, he wondered if that was even advisable at all, given the disrepute the name had attached to it now. Anora was doing what she could, was probably still working at it, in fact, but was it fair to saddle the boy with a broken legacy? Still, it wasn't all bad. There were plenty of good and brave and decent Howes in the lineage. Nathaniel wished he could take Tristan and show him the portraits of his ancestors, share with the boy the tales of his, of their ancestors.

He was getting ahead of himself, and he knew it. He didn't know how Jess would feel about any of this. After all, she had agreed to talk, and nothing more, and she had been adamant that she would not be parted from her son, so wherever the boy went, his mother would be with him. She had a business and property in Highever. It seemed likely that some kind of visitation arrangement would have to be reached, but what that would entail, Nathaniel couldn't imagine.

And there was Rowan to consider. Nathaniel had been reluctant to leave her this morning, but she'd been in surprisingly good form. Melina had been with her, and Ser Barkley, so Nathaniel felt all right about leaving the castle for a few hours. Rowan had already said she thought he should do what he could to own up to his responsibility as a father, but Nathaniel hadn't expected to be so deeply moved when he saw his son, nor was he prepared for the powerful emotions he hadn't even imagined he would experience. He honestly had no idea how Rowan would take any of it.

It was enough to make his head spin, but at the same time, his heart was overflowing with joy. As they reached the castle gate, Nathaniel glanced at Jess and smiled, and she smiled warmly in return.

Maker, he hoped this would all work out.


	78. Meeting Tristan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel tells Rowan what he knows of his son, and Rowan meets Tristan and Tristan's mother.

“How are you?” Nathaniel asked as soon as he stepped into the suite.

“Surprisingly well, given how wretched I felt last night,” Rowan answered with a smile. “Melina's been very good company. We had lunch here together. Oghren came up to check on me, too, to make sure I was all right.”

Nathaniel smiled. “So will you be coming down for dinner?”

“I think I can manage the dining hall,” Rowan said. “I'm willing to give it a go, anyway.”

“Good to hear,” Nathaniel said with a smile as he bent over to kiss her on the forehead. “There are some people you should meet, and it will be less awkward in a more open setting than this bedroom suite.”

Melina got to her feet, smoothing her tunic. The mage, having been raised an apostate and used to wearing whatever she pleased, never wore traditional robes. “I think I'll go now,” she said. “I'm going to see if I can get a bath before dinner.”

“Thank you for spending the day with me,” Rowan said sincerely.

“Oh, it was my pleasure!” Melina returned enthusiastically. “See you later.”

Nathaniel waited until Melina had gone and then sat down next to Rowan and took her hands in his own.

“Well? Tell me all about it,” she said. His grey eyes were dancing with excitement, and she knew it had to be good.

“First, Jess isn't angry with me, though she may be a little wary. I feared she would hate me, but she was perfectly cordial. Friendly, even. I apologised for not being there, told her I'd been sent over the sea and that I didn't know what my father had done to her or about... Well, any of it. She seemed to accept that. She didn't say it, but there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that Tristan is my son. His eyes are brown, and his complexion is a bit ruddier than mine, but he is otherwise me in miniature, Howe nose and all. He's been learning how to fletch arrows. Apparently, he's quite good with a bow.”

“His name is Tristan?”

“Yes. I didn't speak to him, though I was listening to him as Fergus did. I wanted to give Tristan's mother a chance to talk to him first. I spoke to her briefly when we got back to the castle and she said she would tell him who I am straight away, before dinner. Apparently, he's wanted to know about his father for most of his life, and she told him bits and pieces but no more, for his own protection.”

“I hope he takes it well.”

“So do I,” Nathaniel said with a sigh. “I'll talk to Jess again when we can have a private and uninterrupted conversation. You will meet Tristan at dinner, as well as Jess. I have to warn you, she's still quite pretty.”

“What kind of warning is that?” Rowan laughed. “Since when have you known me to be uncomfortable around pretty women?”

“Oh, well, I just thought you might get jealous,” he said dryly. “Jess and I do have a past together. And you were jealous of Velanna. Admit it.”

“Hmmm. I will admit that I was somewhat irritated by the way you used to flirt with her, but that's all. So long as you and Jess don't flirt, it's fine.”

“You flirt with Teagan,” he pointed out with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

“I don't. I allow him to flirt with me and I enjoy it when he does. It's a courtly thing.”

He smirked at her and chuckled. “Mmm hmm,” Nathaniel intoned. “Have it your way, my love. For my part, I will note that I have no intention of flirting with Jess, and if she tries to flirt with me, I will tell her to stop.” He lifted one of her handa and kissed the back of it, looking up at her through his long lashes and making her heart flutter and other body parts respond with excitement, his way of reminding her where his interests lay.

“Tell me about Jess. About your... past with her, I suppose. I would have asked sooner, but I was too busy fretting about coming back to Highever.”

Nathaniel nodded, kissed her hand again, and then sat back, still clasping her hand in his own. “Jess worked in the laundry at Vigil's Keep, and we kept company for some months. The better part of a year, now that I think of it. One of my longest relationships, in fact. We were young, the attraction between us was almost entirely physical, and we never had much in common, but I would say that the relationship eventually grew into mutual affection.”

“How do you feel about her now?”

“Protective, I suppose. Grateful that she's well. She seems like a loving mother, which is good to see. She's also done well for herself and for Tristan, so that's a relief. Other than that, I don't have any particular feelings. Hmm. Warm regard, perhaps?”

“You know I have no complaint about you trying to do right by your son and his mother,” Rowan said. “So long as you don't develop some romance with her or run off with her and leave me behind, it's all right.” She said it in jest, well, mostly in jest, but after having been left high and dry by friends and at least one lover, it was a fear that lurked somewhere in the recesses of her mind. And while she didn't believe Nathaniel would leave her, she might have been fishing just a little for reassurance. That much she would admit, but not out loud.

“I could never leave you,” he told her, squeezing her hand. “Aside from having promised you more than once that I would never forsake you, who would watch your backside if I left?”

“Oh, I'm sure I could find some willing backside watcher, but thank you for the reassurance, because I do prefer you doing it,” Rowan said with a smile. “Do you have any thoughts on how you want to proceed with Jess and Tristan?”

“No. I need to talk to her, see what she's prepared to do and what she wants. She did make it clear that she will not stand for me taking her son away from her, and I assured her I wouldn't even try such a thing. But, Rowan, I would very much like to know him, spend time with him. I don't know how that can be reconciled. I may end up seeing him once or twice a year and having to be happy with that. Fergus will take them both under his wing, if need be. I can offer some financial support if she wants that. But, honestly, I don't know. I just want it to work out, and I want to know my son.”

The yearning in his voice and in his eyes was unmistakable.

“I wonder,” Rowan mused, “if Jess would consider coming to live and trade at Vigil's Keep. We have plenty of room, and we could do with a full time tailor. She'd have more business than she knows what to do with. It could be a good living for her and you could see your son regularly, plus he could get to know his aunt and his cousin.”

“Maker's breath, Rowan, I do love you, so very much,” Nathaniel said, fixing her with one of those intensely passionate looks that took her breath away. “We'll have to see if she'd be willing to do that, of course, but you, my love, are brilliant and generous and I can't believe my good fortune.”

Rowan smiled. He was still looking at her with that intensity of passion, and it made her blush a little. “Well, my love, that's quite the declaration and I do appreciate it, but I'm not so wonderful as all that,” she said. “I've mentioned Arl Eamon's wife, Lady Isolde.”

“Yes. And also how much you dislike her.”

“Yes, and there are plenty of reasons why I don't like her, but a big part of it is she was needlessly and pointlessly cruel to Alistair when he was a child. I told you she thought he was Eamon's bastard, even though Eamon denied it. Isolde took out all her petty frustrations and insecurities on a little boy whose only crime was existing. She made sure he knew how unwelcome and unwanted he was. The wretched woman wouldn't even let him have a room inside the castle with the servants. She made him sleep in the stables with the dogs. Of course, Eamon allowed all of that, so he has to shoulder some of the responsibility, but the fact is, Isolde was a very big part of why Alistair was so insecure and had so little confidence or self-worth. I would not wish that on any child, let alone yours. I don't know what sort of relationship I might have with Tristan, but I would never mistreat him or make him unwelcome, and I would never interfere with your relationship with him.”

Nathaniel gently reached out and pulled her closer while he leaned in to kiss her, tenderly, lovingly, but also passionately. Rowan returned the kiss in kind, putting her arms around his neck, and they sat there on the couch for some time, kissing and caressing each other.

“You know,” she said breathlessly, pulling away from him and putting her forehead to his, their noses pressing together, “there are a few hours before dinner. We might be able to think of a way to entertain each other in the suite here.”

“Are you sure you feel well enough to...”

“I would not have suggested it it I weren't, but thank you for asking. I could use some distraction, though, and you are wonderfully distracting.”

“Well, all right then,” he said, getting to his feet and offering Rowan a hand. “A bit of distraction before dinner it is.”

 

~*~

 

Rowan and Nathaniel had both brought somewhat dressier clothes with them, since they travelled by horse and had more room for baggage. Nothing as formal as the clothes they'd worn at the palace, but Rowan was wearing a rich brown wool skirt with a cream coloured satin blouse, her hair loose and forming waves around her neck and curls past her shoulders.

Nathaniel wore a hip length tunic made of fine, blue-grey linen, a colour that brought out his eyes and flattered his olive complexion. Low on his waist was a black leather belt, and the soft black wool breeches that were tucked into black leather boots fit his slim but muscular form rather snugly. Rowan found she was having a hard time keeping her hands off of him, though she managed to avoid fondling his arse, at least once they left the suite.

They were standing in the dining hall, chatting with Fergus as the other diners filed in, mostly knights and senior level household staff; the soldiers ate in their own dining hall in the barracks, and the lower servants ate in the kitchens or in the servants' quarters, usually after the main dinner hour since so many were needed to attend to the meals.

Rowan had her hand tucked into Nathaniel's elbow, his other hand resting on hers, and her hand on his, so they were almost entwined. She leaned against him a bit, in an extremely familiar but not inappropriate way. So far, the staff and knights had thankfully refrained from asking her a lot of questions or fawning over her. She assumed this was on the orders of her brother, Maker bless him.

“Jess,” Nathaniel called, and Rowan turned her head to see where he was looking. He gestured to a very curvy woman with auburn hair. She had a pale complexion and a scattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and full, pink lips that curled into a small smile when she saw Nathaniel.

Rowan had heard from both her brother and from Nathaniel that Tristan was the spitting image of Nathaniel, but seeing a ten year old version of her lover was slightly unsettling. Rowan couldn't remember Nathaniel at that age, but she definitely understood why Nathaniel had said there was no doubt that Jess' son was his own.

Nathaniel nodded to Jess with a friendly smile. “You know the teyrn,” he said. “This is the teyrn's sister, Rowan Cousland, the Warden-Commander and Hero of Ferelden.”

Rowan saw Jess take note of her position beside Nathaniel, and that Rowan had to remove her hand from his arm to offer it to Jess. Their eyes met. Jess gave a slight nod, Rowan nodded in return. Jess smiled and offered a curtsey.

“Oh, Maker, don't do that!” Rowan laughed. “And please, do call me Rowan.”

“You're the Hero of Ferelden?” piped up Tristan.

“A lot of people call me that, yes,” Rowan answered, meeting his gaze. “You can call me Rowan, though, if you like.”

The boy nodded. “Did you really fight the archdemon?” he asked.

“I did. The archdemon was very big and, yes, it was a dragon, or it looked like one, anyway. We fought it in close quarters on the top of the high tower at Fort Drakon in Denerim. It couldn't fly, having had one wing very badly injured by Senior Warden Riordan who was unfortunately lost in the battle, as was Loghain Mac Tyr, the Hero of River Dane, who became a Grey Warden and gave his life to save Ferelden and atone for his terribly misguided his actions during the war.”

Nathaniel smiled, having heard this well-rehearsed speech many times at court.

“It must have been awful to be in Highever Castle that night like you were,” the boy said seriously. He looked away, and then at his boots. “I still sometimes have nightmares about when the castle was burning and there were soldiers in the city, making sure people didn't try to go to the castle to help. We hid in the cellar, but Papa Martin died that night, anyway. His heart stopped.”

“I am so sorry about Papa Martin,” Rowan said sympathetically, and instinctively put her hand on Tristan's shoulder. “I understand. I lost people I loved that night. And I still have nightmares about it sometimes, too.”

The boy looked up at her with a serious expression that was so like Nathaniel that Rowan's heart constricted in her chest. “But you're the Hero,” Tristan said.

“Even heroes have nightmares,” she answered, looking him in the eye. “Being a hero doesn't mean you're not afraid, or that you're never hurt or upset. It just means you do your best to do what must be done, and you keep going no matter if you're hurt and afraid and confused.”

Tristan frowned just like Nathaniel did when he was mulling something over, and then the boy said, “Yes. That makes sense. More sense than thinking heroes are always brave and strong and happy.”

“Quite so,” Rowan answered, and the boy smiled at her, the same half smile as Nathaniel and Delilah. Rowan couldn't help but smile back.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My writing buffer has gotten painfully small. I think it's okay, but I may slow posting to once a week for a little while to catch up. We shall see. I may be able to work it out (I like the twice-a-week posting schedule, honestly).


	79. Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jess meets Rowan, and Nathaniel and Jess have a talk.

At dinner, Tristan had been placed next to Fergus at the teyrn's request, with Nathaniel on the boy's other side. Both of the Grey Wardens and the solider they'd brought with them were seated at the high table, dispersed amongst the knights and household members. Jess was extremely surprised to find herself sitting beside Rowan Cousland, who was next to her brother in the place of honour that would have been for the lord's wife, if he had one.

Not long after being seated, the teyrn's sister drew a deep, shuddering breath and closed her eyes, breathing very deliberately as if she was trying to calm herself. Jess caught a flash of movement from the corner of her eye. She glanced over to see the teyrn take his sister's hand and lean over to whisper something. Rowan nodded, took a few more deep breaths, then opened her eyes and released her brother's hand so she could return to her meal.

“Are you all right?” asked Jess without thinking, then realised she had perhaps been too forward and immediately reached for her goblet so she could hide behind it.

“I... Sometimes the memories of that night... intrude. It's much worse here at Highever,” Rowan said with what Jess thought was surprising candour. “Since we arrived I have sometimes felt like I was back there, on that night. It's hard to shake it. If I seem... distant, it's just that I'm struggling with my composure. Please don't take it as an affront.”

“I understand,” Jess said sincerely. “Most of the people of Highever remember that night with horror. Lots of us have nightmares.”

“It was a horrible night,” Rowan agreed.

“His soldiers, mercenaries, most of them, stayed around Highever for months. I understand he eventually stopped paying them, though, and so most of them left, but while they were here, they were... They could have been much worse, but they were menacing. They'd wander the streets, watching us, like they were just waiting for one of us to do something that would justify beating us or worse. I... don't really want to say more. You can imagine, and it will probably be about right.”

Rowan sighed and nodded, but didn't say anything. She'd been through a war. She had to know the kind of abuses to which Jess referred.

“To the people of Highever, it's like you are our avenger,” Jess said quietly, but with firm conviction. “Not only did you survive, you killed Arl Rendon Howe. You will never be more loved than you are in Highever, my lady.”

“Rowan.”

“Rowan,” Jess repeated. She wasn't sure if she'd ever get used to calling Lady Cousland, the Hero of Ferelden, by her first name, but Jess would make the effort since that's what the... what Rowan wanted.

Jess turned her attention to her meal for a little while, but she thought they'd better sort out a few things as soon as possible, though she didn't want to blunder in with questions that could be taken the wrong way.

“So,” Jess said eventually, “those tavern ballads about the dashing lover who came to kill you in revenge for his father's death, is that actually true?” Jess asked, trying to sound casual.

Rowan took a drink from her goblet and appeared to consider her answer. When she set the goblet back down, she turned and looked at Jess, searching her face with green eyes that were fringed with thick, dark lashes. Everyone said the Hero of Ferelden was beautiful, and Jess hadn't really doubted it, given how attractive the Teyrn of Highever was. Rowan was certainly pretty, but Jess thought there was something else about her, as well. Some kind of unusual charisma, maybe, something about her that was compelling, without her even trying.

“It depends on which version you've heard, actually. He didn't really try to kill me, that bit is exaggerated for dramatic effect. I didn't conscript him into the Grey Wardens, either. He joined of his own free will. And, yes, we are lovers.”

Jess nodded, unsure how to proceed with the conversation. Rowan Cousland was the Hero of Ferelden and the lover of Nathaniel Howe, both of them noble, and Jess was the very common, used-to-work-in-the-laundry mother of Nathaniel Howe's bastard. That felt... awkward.

“I hear Tristan is good with a bow,” Rowan said conversationally, as if sensing Jess' discomfort.

“He is,” Jess said, embracing the subject of her son. “He's also quite agile.”

Rowan smiled at that as she pushed food around her plate with the tip of her knife.

“He seems like a serious boy,” Rowan said.

“He can be. He's very focussed. But he's also thoughtful and intelligent and he has a quick wit. He's known to make very dry, sharp jokes without cracking a smile at all, just like...” Jess let her voice trail off, unsure if she should say it outright.

“Just like his father,” Rowan finished when Jess hesitated. “It's all right, you can say it. I can see for myself that it's the truth. Rest assured, you have nothing to fear from me where Nathaniel's son is concerned.”

“That's... thank you,” Jess said, sounding far more relieved than she'd intended to do. She was trying to tread carefully. She didn't want to step on anyone's toes, least of all the Hero of Ferelden's.

So far, of course, Rowan Cousland had been nothing but cordial. She'd spoken kindly and openly to Tristan and to Jess, but all the same, Jess was going to make every effort to remain on the lady's good side.

 

~*~

 

Nathaniel knew the castle well, having visited throughout his youth, and he met with Jess at the end of the corridor where her quarters were. He offered her his arm, and she seemed surprised, but she took it and allowed him to escort her to the teyrn's study, which Fergus had offered as a place where they could speak in private.

“Is Rowan all right?” Jess asked. “She was a little off during dinner.”

“She's gone to our suite with both of the Wardens to look after her. One of them is a healer, the other an old friend, so she's in good hands. I'm afraid coming back to Highever has been hard on her.”

“I can only imagine. It was bad enough in the city, but to have been in the castle when...” She let her voice trail off and Nathaniel took the opportunity to change the subject.

“Tristan will be all right alone?”

“Oh, yes. The room had some books, and one was about knights and dragons and such. He'll be reading that until he falls asleep, I imagine.”

Nathaniel smiled. “Wait until he hears some of Rowan's stories. And I have a few of my own these days.” He paused at an open door and gestured for Jess to step inside. “This is the teyrn's study. He's allowing us to use it. Fergus keeps a liquor cabinet in here if you'd like a drink.”

“No, it's fine,” she said, taking a seat in one of the upholstered chairs by the fire. “As you said, we need to talk, and I'd like to have a clear head.”

“Indeed,” he said, closing the door quietly and then taking a seat opposite her.

“Tristan told me he thinks he likes you,” she offered. “And that he would like to know you better.”

“I feel the same,” Nathaniel said. “I hope what I'm about to propose isn't too abrupt or presumptuous. Rowan suggested that you and Tristan might relocate to Vigil's Keep to take up trade there. We have a thriving merchant community, and there's plenty of room. You and Tristan could have rooms in the Keep or in one of the cottages if you want more independence. My sister, Delilah, lives there with her husband and son, so Tristan would have more family around him. I spoke to my sister before we left. She would take Tristan right under her wing, I'm sure.”

“Your sister? Really? How did...?”

“It's a long story, but she ran away from my father's household before the start of the war and went to the city of Amaranthine, where she ended up marrying a merchant. Now she's the housekeeper at Vigil's Keep and her husband is kind of the unofficial head of the Vigil's Keep merchants' guild, not that one exists, but I don't imagine it will be long before one does. My brother-in-law is quite the enterprising man, and very good at organising.”

“How old is her son?”

“Oh, uh... he was born in the spring. He's still a baby, only just starting to think about crawling, or so I am told.”

Jess smiled. “And there are no tailors there?”

“Surprisingly, no. Some of the housekeeping staff are able to ply a needle and thread, and so do basic mending and such, but we don't have a proper tailor, and we could use one. You'd have plenty of business, I can assure you. We can put you on staff or you can continue independently or some combination as it pleases you. It's up to you.”

“And you say this was Rowan's idea?”

“She suggested it, yes.”

“So she's... all right... with me.”

“And with Tristan, yes. We did have a conversation about me not flirting with you,” he admitted with a smirk. “Not that I had any intention of doing so.”

“You finally found a woman who could keep you in line, then,” Jess said with a chuckle.

“I grew up,” he responded with a shrug. “And I fell in love. But it is true that she could beat me to the Void and back if she wanted to, and I have no desire to give her a reason to do that.”

He paused, his mind flashing back to his youth and the time he spent with Jess. Their ongoing and regular association hadn't stopped him from chasing skirts, though he did at least have the decency not to pursue any other relationships with the staff while he was with her.

“I'm sorry I hurt you,” he said finally.

“Hurt me? No, you were always kind to me. It was your father who...”

Nathaniel groaned and ran his hand over his face. “I know. He was never the man I told myself he was. I know now how corrupt he was.”

One of the things Nathaniel had come to realise is that part of why he hadn't known is he hadn't wanted to know. He lived in his own head, he spent time distracting himself. He had spent a great deal of time alone, practising his archery or hunting in the woods. Anything to keep him from really knowing what was going on. His father had been secretive and sneaky, but there had been plenty of hints and clues and Nathaniel had managed to ignore them all. It was a peculiar form of self-deception, because Nathaniel was generally both observant and insightful, but when it came to his father, he'd managed put on metaphorical blinders so he didn't have to see, didn't have to know. Delilah said it was simply what Nathaniel had had to do to survive, and he supposed that was true, but it still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Speaking of my father, tell me what happened. I mean, when he sent you away. Please,” Nathaniel asked.

“You know now that I was pregnant. I don't know how your father found out, because I hadn't said anything to anyone, including you. I did have morning sickness, though, and someone must have worked it out. I expect it was the housekeeper, the hateful old hag. It wasn't exactly a secret that you and I were keeping company. I was called into his study, the day after you left for the tournament in Highever. Lady Howe was there, too. The arl told me he knew about the baby and he wasn't going to give me the opportunity to convince you it was yours.”

Nathaniel winced. She nodded. He got up and moved to sit in the chair beside her and when he reached out to take her hand, she let him.

“I told him he should speak to you about it, but he just laughed and told me we were going to fix the problem, and then I was going to get a gift of coin with which I was to leave the arling and never come back. I could see there was no arguing with him, and the way he said it made it pretty clear he would have me killed if I didn't leave or if I tried to come back. To be honest, I still wonder why he didn't just have me killed outright. I think perhaps it was that your mother knew, and she wouldn't approve of cold-blooded execution.”

“She wouldn't have, no,” Nathaniel agreed. “And I'm sure she didn't wish you any particular harm. She was actually more concerned about me. She was convinced I was a debaucher, or well on my way to it. I'm a little surprised my father didn't have you killed once you'd left, but I suppose he felt you were no longer a threat if you were no longer pregnant. Which brings me to something I've been wondering. Did the potion just not work or...?”

Jess smiled gently. “Do you remember the healer? She was a kind woman. Your father brought me to her and told her what he wanted. She asked me if it was what I wanted. My back was to him, and he couldn't see my face, so I frowned and mouthed the word 'no' but then said yes out loud and kind of darted my eyes his direction. She must have understood that I was only there because he was making me. She mixed up a potion and she gave me a big speech while she did it, all about what would happen, cramps and and possible nausea and so forth. She did it for his benefit and I think she was telling me all that in case I needed to fake that it worked, because I believe she gave me a plain old elfroot healing potion, which she had me drink down in front of your father. As it happened, your father threw me out the next morning, so I didn't have to worry about faking anything.”

“He sent scouts to follow you,” Nathaniel said.

“I know. They were noisy bastards. I think they were trying to menace me, keep me moving, but they didn't overtly threaten me. I headed west across the bannorn, to the teyrnir of Highever. I had it in my mind to try to get to the tournament and tell you what had happened, but by the time I got here, you were gone. At least my 'escorts' had left me alone once I'd crossed out of Amaranthine.”

“Yes, they went right back and reported where you were headed. My father worried that you might be trying to find me, so he came and collected me early. I had no idea why at the time. Of course, now I see now that he wanted to make sure you couldn't tell me what he'd done. I was in the Free Marches in a matter of months.”

Jess nodded solemnly. “Now you're here.”

“Yes.”

“Am I... May I still call you Nathaniel?”

“Of course. Or Nate, if you like.” He smiled at her and rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. “We made a child together, Jess. I'd like for us to be friends, if that's possible. For Tristan's sake if nothing else.”

She smiled at him, her lower lip trembling slightly, her big, dark eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Maker, that would be...” She had to pause, catch her breath.

“Take your time.”

She nodded and then took a deep breath. “You know I didn't really have a family. I have always wanted my son to have a father. He had Martin, thank the Maker, but Martin was more of a grandfather to Tristan. I had suitors, of course, but none that I thought were right for both Tristan and me. I have had a mostly good life here in Highever, but I can't pass up the opportunity for Tristan to have a family, a real family. If we go to Vigil's Keep, he can have an aunt and a cousin and his own father. So, yes, we will accept Rowan's kind invitation.”

Nathaniel smiled broadly, a flood of emotions rushing through him, mostly relief and joy. “I am so very happy to hear that.”

“I'll have to sell my property here, and arrange for a wagon to carry our things, and... there's a lot to do.”

“I'll help however I can. I expect Fergus will, as well. He could even appoint an agent to act on your behalf if you want to come to Vigil's Keep sooner rather than later. I'm sure it can all be worked out.”

Jess smiled warmly. “Yes. I do think it will all work out.”

 


	80. Getting to Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel, Tristan, and Rowan spend some time together.

“What should I call you?” Tristan asked of Nathaniel as they were strolling along the battlements of Highever Castle together mid-morning. Jess had gone to her shop to start making arrangements and tie up loose ends, and she'd left Tristan with Nathaniel for the day, suggesting that they get to know each other.

“I already said you you can call me Nathaniel. Would you prefer Nate?”

“I was thinking some thing more... Well, you are my father.”

“I see,” Nathaniel said, trying not to let his enthusiasm and pleasure show as he understood what the boy meant. “What would you like to call me?”

“I don't know. Maybe... Da? Some of my friends call their fathers that. I always liked it.”

“That works,” Nathaniel said with a smile. “My sister, your aunt, lives at Vigil's Keep, as well. Her name is Delilah, but her nickname is Dee. You can have Dee and Da.”

Tristan snickered. “Aunty Dee?”

“She might prefer Aunty Delilah, now that you mention it. Her husband is your Uncle Albert, and they have a son, Dane, who is your cousin, but he's just a baby and won't care much what you call him for a while.”

“Better a cousin who has to grow up than no cousin at all,” Tristan pointed out. “Mama doesn't have any family. Do you? Uncles? Aunts? Cousins?”

“The knight I served in the Free Marches is my mother's distant cousin, so his children are my even more distant cousins, but I don't really think of any of them as family. I do have an uncle in Ferelden, but I've never even spoken to him. Leonas Bryland, the Arl of South Reach, my mother's brother. I understand he has a daughter who would be about sixteen or seventeen now, Habren. I've never met her, either. Rowan has met them both, though Habren only very briefly.”

“Why have you never met them?”

“Ah. Leonas didn't approve of his sister marrying my father. I don't know all the reasons why, to be honest. Nobody really talked about it. When she defied him, her brother cut off all contact with her. I used to see Leonas Bryland sometimes at Landsmeets and other such gatherings, and he would just utterly snub us. Used to infuriate my father.”

“I can sort of guess why he wouldn't want his sister to marry Rendon Howe,” Tristan ventured.

“I don't think it's quite what you imagine,” Nathaniel asserted gently. “My father wasn't always like he was later. The man behind the Highever Massacre was not a man I know. Mind you, he was always very private with his thoughts and feelings, so I never really knew him well. Still, when he was a younger man, he was different, or so said my mother. When I was young, my father used to spend time with me, told me stories, took me with him sometimes when he travelled. He wasn't all bad. Not until later.”

“What happened?”

“I don't know. It happened slowly, whatever it was, but then when my mother died, he got much worse. My parents weren't on the best of terms by then, but he was angry that she was gone and that he was alone. He started to believe that his friends were his enemies and he grew more and more eaten up with petty jealousy and envy. I was away, so I didn't see what happened, but I have read his journals and I can see that he became increasingly... irrational, I suppose. A kind of madness.”

Tristan looked off into the distance and then nodded slowly. “So, my grandfather betrayed his friend and massacred Highever.”

“Yes. I'm sorry.”

“Why are your sorry? You didn't do anything. You were across the Waking Sea, weren't you?”

“I'm sorry that it happened at all. I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to prevent it. If I'd known, I would have tried to stop him.”

“Even if you knew, you probably couldn't have done anything about it. Papa Martin always said there was no point trying to reason with someone who can't be reasonable.”

Nathaniel smiled. “That's very wise. I'm glad you had Papa Martin to look after you.”

“My mother told me you didn't even know I was going to be born.”

“That's true.”

“If you had known, what would you have done?”

“I don't know. I suppose I would have asked the Couslands to look after your mother and you. They would have done that, I'm sure.”

“How would that have been better than Papa Martin?”

Nathaniel chuckled. “Well, I don't know that it would have been, honestly. You know, you remind me of my sister. She has a way of cutting right to the heart of the matter, too.”

Tristan smiled. “Look like Da, sound like Dee.”

“Quite the clever tongue you have, Tristan. Why don't we go downstairs now and spend some time with Rowan? She always appreciates a clever tongue.”

“All right. She seems kind. Is she?” Tristan asked as they headed to the stairs.

“Generally,” Nathaniel said. “And she's charming and intelligent and a lot of other good things, but she does need to maintain a certain attitude of command. Oh, and she swears a lot when she's angry. Her anger can be quite terrifying, believe me.” And terribly sexy, but Nathaniel didn't think he should mention that.

“You love her.”

“Yes.”

“Did you love my mother?”

Nathaniel considered for a moment, and then said, “My association with your mother was one of the longest I've had with any woman. I did come to care for her, and I still do. That said, your mother and I never had much in common and I was never in love with her.”

Tristan nodded. “That's pretty much what my mother said, too. Different words, but more or less the same thing.”

“Then why did you ask me?”

“To see how your stories lined up,” Tristan said as if it should be blatantly obvious. “I know my mother tells me the truth, though she doesn't always tell me everything. Now I know you tell me the truth, too. At least about this.”

“Tristan,” Nathaniel said seriously, pausing at the bottom of the stairs to look at his son. “I will never lie to you. There are things I can't tell you due to Grey Warden oaths or arling business confidentiality. And there are things that are personal and private and none of your business, so I might not be inclined to discuss them. But I do promise that I will not lie to you.”

Tristan looked up at Nathaniel with a serious expression, and Nathaniel was struck yet again by how much the boy looked like him. “That's fair enough,” Tristan said. “I will make the same promise to you, then.”

Nathaniel extended his right hand, and Tristan glanced at it in mild surprise before he put out his own right hand, put it in his father's, and they shook on it.

 

~*~

 

Rowan was bathed and powdered and dressed in breeches and a comfortable tunic, her damp hair loose around her shoulders and a book on her lap, when Nathaniel stepped into the suite with Tristan in tow. Nathaniel had told her over breakfast that Jess was going into town to sort out some of her outstanding business and that Tristan was going to spend the day with his father. Rowan hadn't expected them this soon, however.

“How are you feeling?” Nathaniel asked her.

“I feel reasonably well, though my mind is quite... uhm... fuzzy, I suppose. Hello, Tristan, how are you?”

“I'm well, thank you, ma'am,” he answered politely.

“Ma'am? Oh, that's a new one,” Rowan said with a chuckle.

“What should I call you?” Tristan asked.

“Well, Rowan is fine. Did you have something else in mind?”

Nathaniel spoke up, “He and I have decided that he'll call me Da.” Rowan heard the note of pleasure in Nathaniel's voice and couldn't help but smile.

“If you marry my father, you'll be my step-mother,” Tristan pointed out.

“Yes, that's true. Though I have no plans to marry your father.”

“Why not?” Tristan frowned exactly the way Nathaniel did, and Rowan had to hide a smile.

“It's complicated,” Rowan answered. She looked at Nathaniel with slightly narrowed eyes in case he'd put the boy up to that, but then decided he hadn't. Apparently, all Howes were just desperate to get her married off to Nathaniel. Something in the blood. “Anyway,” Rowan continued, “I'm not really old enough to be your mother. More like a cousin or an aunty.”

“Then... may I call you Aunty Rowan?” Tristan asked tentatively.

She smiled. “Yes. I've been that before. I think I'd enjoy being that again. Come and sit with me, if you like.”

Tristan glanced at Nathaniel, who smiled and nodded. The boy walked around the couch and took a seat beside her, but not too close, while his father sat down in one of the chairs. His father... Rowan was still adjusting to the idea of Nathaniel as a father.

“So, I understand that you and your mother will be coming to Vigil's Keep,” Rowan said.

“That's what she said, yes.”

“Is that all right with you? You'll be leaving your friends and all that.”

“Yes, and Master Ludo. It's kind of sad, but I have a real family at Vigil's Keep.”

“True. Sometimes your friends can be your family, but I think you'll be happy having family near. I'm afraid there aren't really any children at Vigil's Keep, though, so you won't have people your own age around.”

After she said it, Rowan considered this. Highever Castle always had plenty of children. The children of soldiers and servants, all the pages and squires. Grey Wardens, of course, didn't do such things due to the nature of the work and the secrets they kept, but Vigil's Keep was the seat of the arling, and the Commander of the Grey was the acting arl. It was a unique situation. They might be able to start a training programme, similar to that of noble houses. Garevel could oversee things, and Varel might have some thoughts on the matter, as well.

“Perhaps we need to start a training programme, take on some pages and squires,” she suggested. “Not the Grey Wardens, but the arling's army and personnel.”

“That's a good idea,” Nathaniel said. “I can speak to Garevel about that, if you like. And Delilah will probably have an opinion worth considering.”

“Delilah always has opinions, and she makes sure you consider them whether you want to or not,” Rowan said with a chuckle before turning back to the boy seated beside her. “So, Tristan, I understand you're an archer?”

“Yes,” Tristan answered with a little hint of pride in his voice.

“Nathaniel, show Tristan your bow. I think he'll like it.”

Nathaniel nodded and got to his feet to retrieve it. When he returned, he told the boy to hold his hands out. When Nathaniel placed the longbow on them, Tristan's eyes widened with surprise.

“That's... it feels... exactly right...” Tristan said with a frown, trying to work out what he was sensing.

“It's very old,” Nathaniel said, “and it's enchanted. It was made for a Howe ancestor during the Exalted Marches. I honestly don't know how many generations ago, but there may be an entry in one of the history books at Vigil's Keep as to who was the first to use this bow. See, there's the Howe crest,” he said, pointing to the mark in the wood. “It's said that only a Howe can use this bow.”

“Have you tested it?” Tristan asked.

“Have I tested what?”

“Have you let anyone else try to use it? Someone who isn't a Howe?” the boy wanted to know.

“I... no, I never have. Rowan, do you want to try to use my bow some time?”

“A Cousland using a Howe bow?” she said. “How scandalous. I can certainly try it if you'd like to see.”

“You use a bow?” Tristan asked, turning to Rowan as Nathaniel went to put the weapon away.

“Sometimes. I prefer getting right into a fight with a dagger in each hand and that's when I'm at my best, but I'm an acceptable archer. Not as good as your father, but few people are.”

“Thank you,” Nathaniel said as he sat down.

“You're certainly the best archer I've ever personally known,” Rowan said. “You're even better than Leliana.”

“Who's that?” Tristan wanted to know.

“An Orlesian bard who travelled with me during the Blight.”

“What was an Orlesian bard doing in Ferelden during a Blight?” the boy asked, sounding a bit sceptical.

“She was living in a chantry cloister as a lay sister, though I met her in a tavern,” Rowan responded casually, despite how strange she knew it sounded. “I also travelled with an apostate witch and a Circle mage and a Qunari warrior and an Antivan assassin –”

“You did not,” Tristan interjected, but his brown eyes were sparkling and Rowan could see the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. She was also glad that he'd interrupted before she got to 'bastard prince'.

“I did!” she insisted with a laugh. “I promise you, I'm not making anything up. I may embellish slightly from time to time for the sake of the story, but all storytellers do that. My tales are absolutely based in fact.”

“All right, then,” Tristan said, folding his arms over his chest and looking so like Nathaniel it was startling. “Tell me about this Antivan assassin.”

Rowan grinned and glanced at Nathaniel, who nodded.

“All right. And I'll try to keep it clean,” Rowan said dryly and with a glance to Nathaniel. He smirked at her and winked.

So Rowan told Tristan the tale of how she met, nearly killed, and eventually befriended one of the infamous Antivan Crows. When that story was done, she told the boy about meeting the legendary Flemeth, who was said to hail from Highever, and about Flemeth's daughter, Morrigan, who had been one of Rowan's companions during the Blight.

Eventually, there was a knock at the door, and Nathaniel opened the door to admit a servant with a trolley full of dishes for the midday meal.

“What's this?” Tristan asked.

“Lunch,” Nathaniel answered. “I ordered this when your mother told me she was going to leave you to spend the day with me while she went to take care of business. I knew we'd end up here by midday. Shall we?”

Rowan made her way to the table and smiled as Nathaniel graciously seated her before he took a place across from her at the small table. The two adults started to lift the lids on the dishes. Nathaniel invited Tristan to help himself to whatever looked good.

“You know, Tristan, your father and I have a weekly family dinner at Vigil's Keep with your aunt and her husband and your baby cousin. You and your mother can be included in that, if you think she'd be interested.”

Tristan and Nathaniel both looked up at Rowan with identical expressions of surprise, and then Nathaniel's expression softened to one of pure love. Rowan shrugged and smiled, and then winked at Tristan before she tucked in to her meal.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to slow down the posting rate for a little while until I get a bigger buffer. I've had a lot of distractions of late, and I've gotten a little behind and I don't want to end up with no wiggle room. Bad things (can potentially) happen when you've got no wiggle room. *serious nod* I'll be able to keep up weekly posts, though, that's no problem at all, it just won't be twice a week until I can get a little more written. ;)


	81. Acorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel, Rowan, and Tristan bond over archery.

“How are you feeling now?” Nathaniel asked Rowan when they'd finished their midday meal. “Are you up for a walk? Some fresh air might do you some good.”

“Maybe,” Rowan returned. “Did you have something specific in mind?”

“Not really. I just think you should get outdoors. It's not too cold today, or it wasn't this morning, anyway.”

“We could go to the training yard, if you like. There should be some smaller bows with lower draw strength in the equipment shed if Tristan would like to demonstrate his skill. And I'll try using your ancestral bow.”

There was general agreement with that plan, so they gathered a few things and stepped out of the safety of the suite. She still didn't feel ready to face the great hall, but they didn't need to pass through it to reach the training yard. Still, Nathaniel took her hand as they walked, quietly providing what support he could.

To Rowan's surprise, having Tristan along was proving to be helpful in dealing with the memories that sprang up as she walked around the castle. His company served as a kind of focal point, something to anchor her when she started to remember too fast and too hard.

When they passed the corridor that led to the kitchen and to the larder where her parents had died, her breath caught and she turned her head away and closed her eyes. She squeezed Nathaniel's hand and concentrated on simply breathing and putting one foot in front of the other.

She was surprised when Tristan took her other hand and gave it a squeeze. She glanced at him to find him looking up at her with his expressive, hooded brown eyes. The boy was sensitive or observant or both, and he understood or recognised what was happening to her.

He had only been eight years old when Rendon Howe had committed an atrocity and war crime against the people of Highever. Rowan had known, of course, that the people had suffered after Rendon Howe's takeover, though it wasn't as bad as it could have been, thankfully. Hearing about their distress from Jess, seeing it in Tristan, knowing how much Fergus had lost, all coalesced to put some perspective on her own suffering, gave it some kind of strange, comforting context, all in the blink of an eye. Rowan gave Tristan a little smile and squeezed his hand back and let Nathaniel lead them to the training ground.

Most of her memories of the training ground were good ones, or at least neutral, and there was a great deal of comforting nostalgia there, she found. So many hours of her life had been spent here, working with her daggers and the training dummies, sparring with the blademaster, with Rory, with Fergus, and even one or another of her parents on occasion. She felt comfortable here, even comforted. This was a good step, and it was nice to get outdoors on a sunny autumn afternoon.

“My earliest clear memory of your father is seeing him on this field with his bow,” Rowan said to Tristan. “I was young, seven or maybe eight. He was tall for his age, slim, long limbs, but so strong and graceful. Didn't have his big shoulders yet or all the hard muscle he's got now. He was just a boy in his early teens with a big nose and a cocky attitude and a great deal of talent as an archer.”

Nathaniel smiled and shifted his weight, raising his eyebrows at her. “Is that when you first fell in love with me?”

“Not even remotely,” Rowan laughed, meeting his gaze. “I was impressed by your skill, though. It was what made me decide to take up archery, myself. Though, of course, I've never been as good as you are. Tristan,” she said, turning to the boy, “why don't you have a look in the shed for a bow that suits you. I don't think there are many little girls around to impress, though.”

“What about you, Aunty Rowan?” he asked.

“Oh, I'm not so easily impressed these days.”

Tristan rolled his eyes and Rowan had to suppress a laugh. “I meant,” he told her, “to ask if you were going to do anything on the field.”

“Well, I'll try your father's oh-so-very-Howe bow, I think. After that, I guess we'll see.”

“Do you have a bow?” Tristan asked.

“I do, but it's not an ancestral one with the Cousland mark on it or anything like that. It's called Heart of the Forest, and it was made for me quite recently from the heartwood of an ancient sylvan, which is a kind of sapient tree. I believe it's a spirit or a demon that was bound into a tree somehow, and they're very angry and dangerous and want to fight the minute you get close enough for them to strike. Though I did meet one sentient tree, the Grand Oak, who was quite gentle. That tree was not only able to talk, it spoke exclusively in rhyme. It called itself a poet-tree,” Rowan recalled with a chuckle. “I didn't fight that one.”

“Why not?” the boy wanted to know.

“Well, he didn't want to fight me. It just wanted its acorn back. Its seed. Someone had taken it, and the tree wanted to be reunited with it, so I went and retrieved it from the somewhat mad hermit mage who had taken it.”

“Did you fight the mage?”

“No. We traded. A question for a question, as he put it. And then I gave him a ring I'd found in the forest in exchange for the Grand Oak's acorn.”

Rowan glanced at Nathaniel and smiled gently. She hadn't thought of the strangely amusing mad mage of the Brecilian Forest or of the Grand Oak for a long time. Now she looked at Nathaniel, and then at Tristan, and she thought of the saying that the acorn doesn't fall far from the tree.

“Are you sure you're not making things up?” Tristan asked. His face and tone of voice were completely serious, but Rowan had the distinct impression that he was teasing.

Nathaniel chimed in, “I never saw the Grand Oak, but I fought sylvans on my very first mission away as a Grey Warden. And the ones we fought were actually perpetually on fire, believe it or not.”

Tristan looked up at his father with a raised eyebrow. “These stories are like something out of a book,” he said. “It just seems hard to believe.”

“I understand that,” Nathaniel said with a smile. “Sometimes they're hard for me to believe, too, even the ones I've lived. But I promised I'd never lie to you, and I certainly haven't. Rowan, you wouldn't lie to Tristan, would you?”

“No. But what reason would I even have for making up ridiculous stories about sapient trees, anyway? If I was going to make things up, I'd make it a good deal more believable.”

“All right,” Tristan said. “That's a good point. I don't suppose you'd take me to see these trees, would you?”

“Well, the Grand Oak lives in the Brecilian Forest, and it's quite dangerous. I wouldn't want to take you until you're old enough to defend yourself fully, all the time. I don't think I'd want you to be poisoned by a giant spider or snatched up by a sylvan. The Dalish can be pretty hostile, as well, and some clans will attack first and ask questions later. At least the werewolves are gone now.”

“Werewolves,” Tristan said with an exaggerated sigh.

Rowan laughed and then grinned at him, nodding. “You certainly put things in perspective, young man. Most people never question my stories, and I suppose I'd forgotten just how extraordinary some of them are. Most of them, maybe. But I really, truly am not teasing you or making things up. You see... I don't have to.” And she winked at him.

The boy grinned and shook his head slightly. “As you say. Are you going to try the Howe bow?”

Rowan nodded and adjusted her cloak, flipping it over one shoulder before she turned to Nathaniel, who duly handed her the bow. She had held it before, of course, when she gave it to him in the armoury all those months ago. He'd hugged her not too long after that, and Rowan had spent a restless night, unable to get that embrace out of her mind. The way they fit together, the way it felt to have her body pressed to his, his scent, the feel of his arms around her...

Nathaniel was smirking at her, with a look in his eye that said he knew she was thinking about him in intimate ways. She felt a bit of heat in her face, mostly because of the presence of a ten year old boy. If she and Nathaniel had been alone, she would have indulged herself and pressed her body up against his and probably kissed him quite deeply. Instead, she cleared her throat slightly and went to the equipment shed to find some arrows, and she was adjusting the quiver over the folds of her cloak as she walked to the archery range at the far end of the field, where one could practice with a much lower risk of accidentally shooting someone with a stray arrow.

She took her position and sighted her target, taking care to place her feet and keep her back straight, something Nathaniel had been diligently reminding her of for months. She didn't want a reprimand, however gentle, in front of his son. She heard a slight grunt of approval from Nathaniel and she suppressed a smile as she got an arrow and nocked it. Rowan got the bow string in her fingers and and raised the long bow to draw... and found she couldn't.

“What's wrong?” Nathaniel asked.

“How strong is the pull on this bow?” she asked him in return, frowning.

“Well, it is a long bow, so it takes a good deal of strength, but you should be strong enough for it. What happened?”

“I don't know. I went to draw and... I just... couldn't do it.”

“Interesting. Try again.”

She nodded and got the arrow in place and went to draw and... the same thing happened.

“Nate, do something for me. Go to the equipment shed, find a longbow with a similar weight and draw tension to this bow and bring it to me, please.”

“Are you joking now?” Tristan asked as his father trotted away.

“No, I am not playing at this,” Rowan told him. “I really can't draw the bow. I can hold it, I can aim it, I can nock the arrow, but I simply can't draw.”

Tristan just shook his head. “I've been working with Master Ludo for a couple of years and I've never seen anything like that.”

“Tristan, I've used all kinds of bows, short and long, and I've never seen anything like it, either. It's not even like I'm struggling to pull it. I just... can't. It's bizarre.”

Tristan grunted in agreement, and they stood quietly for a few minutes until Nathaniel returned with a longbow, which he handed her while she gave him back his own. Rowan took her position, nocked her arrow, sighted the target, drew, and let fly with a very solid hit not too far from the centre of the target. For good measure, she loosed three more arrows, none terribly precise or impressive, but solid enough and close enough.

Rowan lowered the bow and looked at Nathaniel. “I know that bow is enchanted, but I never really thought the whole 'can only be used by a Howe' thing was real.”

“Do you want to try again?” he asked.

“No,” she answered. “I've made enough of a fool of myself for one day.”

“You're good,” Tristan commented as he looked at the target, “when you use a bow that lets you.”

Rowan smiled and shook her head. “Not as good as your father. Show him, Nate.”

Nathaniel gave her a smirk and then a quick kiss on the lips. “For luck,” he said with a shrug, but Rowan caught him turning to wink at his son before he took his position and proceeded to land four arrows, one after the other in rapid succession into the heart of the target, surrounded by Rowan's arrows.

Nathaniel smiled rather smugly and turned to his son, who looked up at him with undisguised awe. “Will you teach me?”

“Of course,” Nathaniel answered. “Go get a bow and we'll have a look at your technique. I think we'll start a little closer to the target, though, at least at first.”

Tristan nodded and went off to the equipment shed and Nathaniel and Rowan walked down to the target to remove the arrows.

“So, you like him?” Nathaniel asked casually.

“He reminds me of you. And of Delilah, for that matter. How could I not like him?”

Nathaniel smiled and turned to her, putting a hand under her cloak on her waist to pull her close so he could kiss her. She thought she should stop him, remind him they weren't alone, but he smelled so good and it felt so nice to be pressed up against him that she leaned in and deepened the kiss. They didn't linger for long, but when they moved apart, Tristan was watching them, a look on his face that was a cross between impatience and amusement.

“Da, if you're finished kissing Aunty Rowan, I'm ready for a lesson.”

“Tristan, I will never be finished kissing Aunty Rowan, but I take your point. Let's see your stance, then. Ah, no, that foot... here, let me show you...” Nathaniel said as he walked to his son with long strides. “Which hand do you... yes, okay. This foot, point the toe at your target. There you go...”

Rowan took the bow she'd used back to the equipment shed and then wandered back to watch Nathaniel and Tristan. The boy's concentration was good, and he did have a natural talent for archery. Nathaniel didn't have to correct him on many points. They worked for some time, Tristan growing more confident with every attempt, Nathaniel practically glowing with pride, though it might have been less obvious to someone who didn't know him as well as Rowan did.

“I think you've had enough for one day,” Nathaniel said when one of Tristan's arrows failed to hit the target at all. “You're tired. It's normal. In time, you'll build up the muscles in your upper body and that will bring various kinds of improvement. For now, though, let's put the bow away and see if we can find something nice to eat, hmm? Cookies, maybe?”  
Tristan nodded and the two of them went to the equipment shed together. When they emerged, Nathaniel had his hand on his son's shoulder in a gesture of affection.

“You did well today,” he was saying to the boy. “You really do have a talent for it. When we get back to Vigil's Keep, I can teach you how to play darts, if you like. You might be good at that, too.”

“Aunty Rowan, will you teach me how to fight with daggers?” the boy asked as they headed off the field.

“Yes, if your mother approves. And I'll bet you'd be good at sneaking around quietly, too.”

“Oh, I am,” Tristan answered, sounding a little cocky.

Rowan chuckled. “I'm not surprised. The acorn doesn't fall far from the tree."

 

 


	82. Toward Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan moves closer to healing.

Rowan and Nathaniel spent the next few days with Tristan while his mother continued her business in Highever. Jess had given consent for him to start learning how to handle daggers once she was assured the daggers would be be weighted wooden blades and that other than the possibility of a few bruises, he was unlikely to be harmed. Rowan started him off practising thrusts and lunges, which she told him he'd be doing for some time until he was ready to move on. He took it with resignation and a nod and worked at it with good focus and concentration, responding well to the occasional comment from Rowan on his technique or posture.

Nathaniel sat on a bench nearby, sharpening his own daggers and looking up now and then, his heart warmed by the sight of his love and his son together. She had taken to Tristan as if he really was a beloved nephew. There was some kind of connection there, that much was clear. Nathaniel didn't fully understand it, and he hadn't asked about it for fear of jinxing it, but he was yet again reminded of what an extraordinary woman Rowan Cousland was.

Jess and Rowan seemed to get along perfectly amicably. Nathaniel didn't think they had a great deal in common, but they seemed to find things to talk about. He suspected that most of the time the topic of conversation was Tristan, but that was all right. It didn't matter if Jess and Rowan became close friends or not, so long as they were on good terms.

In the evenings, instead of retreating to the grand guest suite, Rowan and Nathaniel had been spending time with Fergus, sometimes with the small company they'd brought with them from Vigil's Keep, and they'd fallen quite naturally into playing cards. Evon seemed to have come to regard Fergus as a solider and commander more than a lord, so while he was still deferential, he wasn't falling all over himself, which was nice to see. Oghren, as usual, sat to the side, drinking and making the occasional comment or joke. Nathaniel wondered if Oghren knew how to play Wicked Grace at all or if he just didn't because it interfered with his drinking.

Melina was not an experienced player, though she had been present and watched plenty of Wicked Grace games at Vigil's Keep, so she knew at least something of the rules. Fergus volunteered, rather quickly Nathaniel thought, to help her, and the first few hands on the first night they played saw Fergus sitting close to the pretty mage, whispering in her ear and pointing to the cards in her hand and on the table.

Nathaniel didn't bother to hide his smirk as he watched the two of them. Good for Fergus, showing that kind of interest in a woman, and it was definitely that kind of interest. With Melina, a Grey Warden mage stationed in Amaranthine, there was no chance of a long term or serious relationship, but a little flirtation, maybe an evening or two spent alone in his chambers, would do Fergus good. Possibly Melina, as well, but Nathaniel didn't know her well enough to guess what her needs might be in that area.

Under the table, Rowan nudged his foot with her own, nodding discreetly at her brother and Melina. Nathaniel winked and smiled, and adjusted his position so he could rub his leg against Rowan's.

Being in the teyrn's study was hard on Rowan. It had escaped most of the damage from the fires of massacre, and Fergus hadn't changed it much. It was still quite like it had been when Bryce Cousland had been the teryn. Rowan had been a little staggered when she entered the room, but she'd rallied quickly. For the past few days, she had been quite deliberately walking around the castle, working through her memories, even though he could see it was painful and difficult. He was even more proud of her than he usually was.

One evening, instead of joining Fergus and the others for cards, Rowan made some excuse and drew Nathaniel aside to whisper in his ear, “Come with me to the garden.”

“The one by the old family wing?” Nathaniel asked, and she nodded.

He knew the way. He offered her his arm and they made their way at a sedate pace. In years gone by, Nathaniel had dallied with the occasional castle servant in that garden, which was secluded and had a number of nooks and alcoves. It made him sad to realise those women were quite possibly dead, killed in the massacre if they'd still been employed by the teyrn when it happened. So many signs of suffering and loss, from his friend's wife and child to Rowan's inner turmoil to his own son's nightmares. If Nathaniel hadn't already hated his father, coming to Highever would have done the trick.

“Here, this way,” Rowan said, guiding him to a secluded corner. “In the summer, there are roses here, espaliered on that wall. When they're all in bloom, the scent is amazing. You just have to be careful of the thorns. Kiss me.”

She put her arms around his neck and he felt like he, like they were surrounded in love, joined by it, now and always. He turned his head and pressed his lips to her mouth and she responded as she always did, swaying against him as his tongue touched her lips and she opened to him. He let a hand slip to her waist, and then down a bit to cup her bottom as his tongue slid into her willing mouth. She tasted like wine and almond cake, and he pulled her closer, relishing the way she fit against him, the way her breasts pressed into his chest, the way her hips fitted to his so perfectly. Like they were made for each other.

After a few minutes she pulled her head back and he loosened his hold on her just a little.

“This is where I got my first kiss,” she said quietly.

“Oh. From Rory?”

“Yes. It was my sixteenth birthday. He was seventeen. There was a party for my birthday, but I ducked out of it because it was a boring, stuffy affair and it was really just to let all the banns and arls and assorted knights and so on know that the Cousland girl was officially on the marriage market. My father wouldn't have seen me married at that age, of course, but as far as my parents were concerned, I was old enough to be courted, and thus began the great parade of potential suitors and their attempts to impress me.”

“Would that I had been one of them,” he said, kissing her on the temple. “You know I don't mind kissing you in a dark corner of a garden, but I'm curious why you brought me here.”

“I... It's hard to explain. Bringing you here is almost like... a benediction,” she answered quietly, clearly struggling to find the words. “I will never... You don't just stop loving someone because they're no longer in the realm of the living.”

Nathaniel kissed her forehead and waited. Her thoughts seemed to be all over the place.

“You would have liked Rory, I think. He understood duty and honour. He had my back.”

“I know,” Nathaniel said quietly. “That's why he held the gate.”

Rowan nodded. “And now it's you watching my back. I... it scares me sometimes... how much I need you. I don't think I could stand to lose you.”

“Would now be a good time to propose?”

“If you must.”

“Rowan Cousland, will you please do me the great honour of being my wife?”

“It seems like that's inevitable. So I imagine that eventually I will marry you.”

Nathaniel smiled against her hair. That was the closest she'd gotten to a yes. He still didn't fully understand why she was so very resistant to the idea of marriage, but this was a good step forward.

“As you like, my love,” he said eventually, softly, not wanting to spook her into some reaction that would ruin the moment.

“I still don't want to get married in Highever,” she said. “Or at the palace in Denerim.”

“We can get married at Vigil's Keep. Or we can run away and get married in Kirkwall or something if you want to elope.”

“First we should get Tristan settled in.”

“That sounds like a wedding delay tactic,” he said with some amusement.

“It is. But you'll tolerate it, because you love me.”

He chuckled. “You're right, as usual.”

“Oh, and how nice that you've finally come around to acknowledging my usual rightness. But now,” she continued, her tone of voice abruptly growing serious as she pulled back from him, “I want... I need to go to the kitchen larder.”

“Where your parents died,” Nathaniel said quietly.

“Yes. And my old nanny died in the kitchen. I found her body as I went to my father. Rory and I actually fought giant rats in the larder just a few hours before...”

“Giant rats?”

“Yes. Maker only knows how they got all the way to Highever from the Korcari Wilds. Ser Barkley discovered them and was barking and making a fuss, bothering Nan, so I was called to collect him, and Rory and I ended up killing the rats together. Next time I saw him was a few hours later in the great hall, when I kissed him goodbye.”

“Ah, my love, you make me so proud.”

“For killing rats?”

“Yes, for killing rats,” he retorted sarcastically. He softened his voice again and said, “You make me proud because you're facing these things that you know are going to hurt and upset you. Opening old wounds in order to heal them. And I'm glad you're letting me help.”

“I'm glad you're helping.”

They stood for a little while longer, wrapped in each others' embrace, enveloped in love.

 

~*~

 

Rowan swallowed hard as she walked down the corridor to the kitchen. Nathaniel was right there with her, but she wasn't holding his hand or touching him in any way. She would let him pick up the pieces, but she was determined to take the blow herself, without cushioning, without comfort.

The kitchen door was to her left, and it was open. There were sounds of servants doing various kitchen chores there, probably preparing their own dinner from the leftovers, and washing some of the plates and pans and other utensils. She stood in the doorway and peered inside. It looked almost entirely unchanged.

“Oh! My lady!” gasped one of the elven women. “What... May I help you?” Other servants glanced at Rowan and each other nervously, wondering what it meant that the teryn's sister, the Hero of Ferelden, was in the kitchen.

“No, no, it's fine,” Rowan said, her voice cracking a little. “No. I... it's been a long time since I was here. I just wanted to... look around...”

“Oh,” the elf responded with a slight frown.

“I'll try to keep out of the way,” Rowan said, and stepped into the chamber, ignoring the confused and slightly scandalised expressions on the faces of the kitchen servants.

Right there, that's where Nan's body had lain. And two of the kitchen servants, both elves, had been slain along with her, their unarmed corpses splayed out on the stone floor. Howe's mercenaries and the soldiers who had remained with him were ruthless, sadistic. Nan was an old woman, no threat to anyone, unless being scolded and having the same story repeated to you over and over for most of your life was somehow threatening. She hadn't deserved to die like that. None of them had. Not the servants, not Rowan's parents, not Rory, not Lady Landra nor Dairren nor Brother Aldous nor any of the pages and squires. Not Mother Malol. Not Oriana and Oren. None of them. It was all so foul, so... evil. There was no reason at all to murder the entire household.

Rowan felt sick, but she took a breath and moved the few paces to the larder and pushed open the door. There was a buzz behind her, the servants murmuring, but no one tried to stop her and no one spoke aloud. Nathaniel was at her elbow, waiting. Watching her back.

She expected to see a stain on the floor where her father had poured out the last of his life's blood, but there was none. It had been scrubbed clean. Her mother had died here, too, and there was no sign of that, even though Eleanor Cousland undoubtedly went down fighting.

For the first time, Rowan saw with absolute clarity that Rendom Howe had been lying about being present when her parents died. Rendon wasn't the kind who liked getting his own hands dirty. A tiny, grim smile touched her lips at the thought of how pathetic the man was. The way he had baited her, the way he taunted and lied about having made her mother kiss his feet. Ridiculous. He'd been nowhere near when her parents died, she knew it in her bones, as if she could read the memory of the stones of the floor and the walls. The man was a liar who had met his end on the point of her dagger and used his last breath to curse her.

Maker, how she wished Rendon Howe could see her, see her triumph. Yes, it came at a tremendous cost to her, but still the Couslands triumphed over him, through her. She had the love and loyalty of both of Rendon's surviving children, her brother lived and was teyrn and would almost certainly father more children to carry on the name and traditions of the family, Rendon's grandson called her aunty, she was a celebrated hero with the favour of the Crown, and she was the commander at Rendon's own ancestral fortress.

“And a Cousland beat you once and for all,” she whispered.

Nathaniel gently put his hands on her waist, breaking her reverie.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

“He didn't win. He couldn't beat me. He couldn't extinguish the Couslands, no matter how hard he tried. Sick, twisted, evil bastard. He nearly destroyed the Howes, but he couldn't kill the Couslands.”

Nathaniel wrapped his arms around her and she leaned back against him. He was quiet. Whether lost in his own thoughts or waiting to see what she was going to say or do, Rowan didn't know. Sometimes they were just quiet like this with each other. Sometimes, they were so in tune with each other that there there was just nothing they needed to say.

This felt like one of those times.

 


	83. For the Love Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan finds a little more healing and does what she can to clear Nathaniel's name in Highever. 
> 
> Sexual references toward the end, though it's not graphic.

Fergus wanted Rowan to make an appearance in the city of Highever, to greet the people as their Hero. She wasn't overly pleased with the prospect, but she had been thinking about what Melina had said about love, and about not rejecting it. This seemed a good opportunity to make good on that.

Rowan agreed to go to the people, but insisted that Fergus had to come with her, as well as Oghren, who was, after all, a veteran of the Fifth Blight. She wanted Ser Barkley with her, as well, because nothing was more Ferelden than a heroic mabari.

As far as Nathaniel, though, she wavered back and forth for some time. On the one hand, she very much wanted it to be known that he was not his father, not responsible for anything his father did, and an honourable man. She wanted to see the Howe name shed at least some of the shame attached to it. Anora's efforts were undoubtedly having a positive effect in some circles, but these were the people of Highever, who had more reason than many to hate Rendon Howe. In the end, after consulting with Fergus and with Nathaniel, Rowan decided to leave Nathaniel at the castle.

She went out armoured and armed. Oghren did, as well, and so did the soldiers Fergus brought along. Fergus had sent word out that she would be touring the market district with him and that the people could come and visit with her. A number of Highever soldiers came along for crowd control if needed, but it turned out it wasn't necessary. The people were direct and unafraid to approach her, but they were well-mannered.

The group strolled through the streets, waving, greeting people, drawing a crowd. Rowan ended up in the middle of the open square, sitting on the edge of a big, stone fountain that had been built before the Orlesian occupation, chatting with people, answering their questions.

She introduced Oghren as her friend and a hero of the Blight. She also pointed out that her mabari was, himself, a Blight veteran who had killed many a darkspawn.

Some people brought her small gifts: a jar of local honey, a small linen sack that was tied with a ribbon, and filled with fragrant dried herbs and flowers, handmade clothing of various kinds, even a small piece of jewellery, a common crystal wrapped artfully with wire and formed into a pendant worn on a piece of leather thong. Rowan accepted the gifts graciously, and, possibly for the first time ever, she allowed herself to truly received the love and admiration of the people. This was Highever. These were her people.

Instead of arguing that she only did what she had to do, she accepted that they appreciated what she'd done. She accepted their pride that she had survived the massacre and gone on to do Highever proud. She let them adore her, admire her, thank her. And when she'd soaked up their love, she offered it in return. She smiled at them, she kissed a couple of babies who were held out to her as if for a blessing. She accepted condolences on the loss of her parents.

Eventually the subject turned to the tavern tales and gossip about her lover, partly because word had gotten out that he was with her at Highever Castle and had been seen in the city in the company of the Teyrn of Highever. Rowan was going to try to make the people understand why she loved Nathaniel, even if they were never able to love him the way she did. So long as they didn't resent him for things over which he had no control, she would be content.

No, she told the gathered crowd, Nathaniel Howe had not tried to kill her, as romantic as it sounded in the tales. Yes, he had pledged his service to the Grey Wardens of his own free will, hoping to do some good in the world and perhaps restore some honour to his family name. Yes, she trusted him completely, so much so that she made him her second-in-command. No, he hadn't know what his father was doing during the war.

“Do any of you really believe that my brother or I would tolerate one of Rendon Howe's collaborators?” she asked. “Even Queen Anora has welcomed Nathaniel Howe to court, danced with him, seated him at her private dining table. He is not his father. He is nothing like his father. If he were, I would have killed him, just as I killed his father. I've certainly had opportunities to do just that.”

“You took Teyrn Loghain Mac Tyr into the Grey Wardens,” someone pointed out. “He did terrible things during the war.”

“He did. And I conscripted him into the Grey Wardens partly to make him account for his actions. There are other reasons, too, Grey Warden reasons that I can't divulge. In the end, Loghain Mac Tyr did atone, and he died in service to the Wardens and to Ferelden. He also saved my life. Rendon Howe, on the other hand, was never repentant, he knew no remorse, and he died at the end of my blade, cursing me with his last breath. Now his only living son is attempting to atone for his father's crimes with his own service to the Grey Wardens and to Ferelden. His service has been valuable and true. He always has my back and he is an excellent commander. He has undoubtedly saved my life more than once. The Grey Wardens are fortunate to have him, and so am I.”

Rowan glanced at her brother, who was sitting beside her, looking at her with a peculiar smile on his face. She'd have to ask him about that later. Right now, there were more questions, this time about the various tavern tales.

“Why isn't he with you?” someone asked.

“He's at the castle. I didn't know how he would be received,” Rowan answered calmly.

“I knew Nathaniel Howe,” said a woman who pushed to the front of the crowd. “Years ago, when he came to Highever for a tournament. He was charming and good looking, and such a cad. I wasn't the only woman he pursued that day. Bloody marvellous kisser, though, I remember that! I thought you deserved to know.”

The crowd murmured uncertainly but Rowan burst out laughing. The woman was probably trying to stir up trouble, but Rowan wasn't going to let that happen.

“Thank you, I did already know that he's a bloody marvellous kisser,” Rowan answered with a grin, and the crowd laughed, grateful for the break in the tension. “And I already knew about Nathaniel's past. I knew about it years ago, and he has told me a great deal in the time we've been together. We were all young once, yes? He's older now, and far more temperate and considered than he was as a youth. I have no real concerns there.”

To Rowan's surprise, Fergus spoke up. “I've known Nathaniel Howe most of my life. I can tell you that he is almost embarrassingly in love with my sister. He has well and truly lost his heart to her, as well as various other parts of his anatomy. The Hero of Ferelden is in good hands.”

Oghren give one of his strangely lewd giggles as the crowd laughed, and Rowan shook her head and nudged Fergus playfully with her elbow. If Nathaniel's youthful indiscretions were remembered, so would her brother's be, as well as the recognition that he had reformed his ways.

“Tell us about the bastard prince!” someone called out.

“Just listen to the tavern songs,” Rowan answered sourly. “They sum it up well enough.”

“Did you really fight a high dragon?” a girl of about twelve wanted to know.

“I've fought more than one,” Rowan answered. “As well as drakes and various others. A great many dragons, now that I come to think of it.”

The crowd murmured excitedly and then someone was asking something else about her adventures and so it went, the topic of Rowan's lover put aside, at least for now.

 

~*~

 

“I should have brought you with me,” Rowan said as she and Nathaniel finally had some private time as they were preparing for bed. “I had to defend your honour. Well, I didn't have to, but I wanted to. I don't care for the idea that you're despised or at least mistrusted in my home city.”

“What did you tell them?”

“The truth. Fergus was helpful, as well, especially when one of your former... uhh... partners, we'll say, decided I needed to know about your wicked ways and what a bloody marvellous kisser you are.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” she answered with a grin. “I wonder how many there are, hmm? Dozens and dozens, perhaps?”

“Rowan, I... it was a long time ago,” he sighed as he got into the big bed and lay on his back. “What did she look like?”

“Hmm. Blonde, blue eyes, might have been pretty ten years ago. She didn't give her name, nor did I ask. I imagine there are others in Highever who can claim intimate acquaintance with you. And my brother was as bad as you were. I'm surprised he hasn't got any bastards, actually.”

Rowan followed him into the bed and lay on her side, facing him, putting a leg over his and her arm across his chest, fingers twining into his chest hair.

“Fergus was always somewhat more... uh, cautious than I was,” Nathaniel noted as he brought his arm around her. “I think he was more aware of his duty as a future teryn and the repercussions of his actions.”

“Ah, yes, the famous Cousland sense of duty. It was instilled into us from birth. Fergus had a duty to marry and produce legitimate heirs, amongst many other expectations.”

“You were expected to do the same.”

“Yes, but my children would not have been Couslands, so it wasn't as significant, at least to my own family. I mean, my mother did want more grandchildren, but apart from that, I didn't have the pressure to carry on the family name.”

“I wish we'd married and made some babies,” Nathaniel said wistfully. “Spending time with Tristan has really made me think about what kind of child or even children you and I might have had. I would have liked seeing your belly getting bigger and bigger, our child wriggling around inside...” He reached down and put his fingertips on her flat, muscular abdomen. “Pity that's never to be.”

“You'll just have to be content with the son you do have.”

“He's a great kid. Jess has done a wonderful job with him. I'm grateful to know him, and to have a chance to be a father to him.”

“You know, you're awfully sentimental for being such an arrogant hardarse.”

“Should I take that as a compliment or an insult?”

“Take it how you like.”

“How about you? Can I take you how I like? Or do you have some specific ideas about how you might like to be taken?”

“What if I just want to sleep?”

“Then I'll let you sleep, but if you're interested in the considerable skills I honed as a reckless youth with wicked ways, I can make it worth your while. You have only to tell me what you want. In fact, I insist that you tell me what you want. Explicitly, and in specific detail.”

“You want me to talk dirty to you?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice husky and arousing.

“How about some of your bloody marvellous kisses? Nice and slowly.”

He turned onto his side so he was facing her. “And then?”

“I'll let you know.”

“Explicitly, or you won't get it.”

She didn't answer him, because his lips were pressing sensually to hers, the tip of his tongue nudging for entry to her mouth. With a sigh, she responded, pressing her body to his, fingers massaging his chest as he teased her tongue with his own and then sucked gently on her lower lip until she let go of any other thoughts she might be holding and lost herself to the bloody marvellous kisses of the man she loved.

 


	84. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan and Nathaniel and company return to Vigil's Keep.

The trip back to Vigil's Keep took considerably longer than the one there. Jess had a wagon, so they couldn't just cut across the bannorn. They also had a few more horses, including two ponies, one of which was carrying Oghren. Then there was the company of half a dozen soldiers Fergus insisted on sending with them, explicitly putting them under Rowan's command until she released them to return to Highever.

By the time the travelling party got to Vigil's Keep, Tristan was following Nathaniel around like a mabari pup. He had extracted a promise from Nathaniel for horseback riding lessons, and asked as many questions as he could think of to ask about Delilah, Vigil's Keep, and the Grey Wardens. Nathaniel patiently answered question after question. Occasionally, he reminded Tristan that Grey Warden business was not always something he could discuss. Most other topics seemed to be fair game, though, as far as Rowan could tell.

Jess had volunteered to cook. Rowan told her it wasn't necessary, but Jess insisted. As it turned out, Jess had little to no experience cooking over a camp fire, and while Rowan wasn't much of a cook, she did know some tricks for managing a camp fire, having burned and undercooked a lot of food at the beginning of the Blight. So Rowan offered some advice on that and made the trail bread while Jess made use of the supplies Fergus had provided. They ate well, and Rowan got a chance to know Jess a little better.

It was true that they had little in common, apart from Nathaniel, and their shared intimate knowledge of him was not a topic either of them brought up. However, Jess was practical and possessed considerable common sense, and those were qualities Rowan could always appreciate. As far as Rowan could tell, her own fondness for Tristan put her on the good side of Jess; the woman was devoted to her son. The growing acquaintance between the two women was comfortably amiable, if not overly familiar. They'd probably never be close friends the way Rowan and Delilah had become, but that was probably to be expected.

Jess regarded Nathaniel with warmth, but there was no sign of longing or even desire. Now and then she seemed to look at him appreciatively, but Rowan could hardly blame the woman for that. Nathaniel was a man worth looking at. Rowan had also noticed Jess looking at Fergus, and at some of the knights at Highever Castle, and at a couple of the Highever soldiers that Fergus had sent along. It seemed Jess liked to look at attractive men. Hard to call that a problem, especially when she was the least flirtatious woman Rowan had ever seen.

When Vigil's Keep, nestled as it was into the surrounding hills, appeared in the distance, Rowan couldn't suppress a smile. It seemed it really was home to her. Highever had been her home, but it wasn't now and never would be again. Denerim certainly held no place in her heart. But the ancient Keep, with its seemingly endless cellars and rich history, had become the place she belonged. She glanced at Nathaniel, riding on his big, black horse beside Jess' wagon and chatting with her and Tristan as they approached the Keep, and Rowan thought that the fact that it was his home, too, must have some effect on how she regarded it.

Of course, Delilah was on hand to greet them. Nathaniel dismounted and handed off the reins and helped Jess down from the wagon before he watched Tristan jump down. Nathaniel stood close enough to catch the boy if need be, but otherwise let him go. Rowan got down from her grey mare as Delilah shook hands with Jess, and Rowan joined them just after the women greeted each other.

“Delilah, this is Tristan,” Nathaniel said. “Tristan, this is my sister, Delilah.”

“You're my aunty?” the boy asked, and Delilah gave him a smile.

“I dare say I am,” she commented as her eyes darted between her brother and the boy, probably taking in just how much Tristan resembled Nathaniel.

“What should I call you?” Tristan asked.

Before she could speak, Nathaniel said, “Do you prefer Dee or Delilah?”

“Well, that's up to Tristan, I should think,” Delilah answered in an almost scolding tone of voice.

“Aunty Dee is a little silly,” Tristan said.

“Yes, I quite agree,” answered Delilah. “Aunty Delilah it is, then. Nathaniel, guests?”

“Yes, the teyrn insisted on sending a company of soldiers, given that were were travelling with civilians and a wagon. It was unnecessary, but not unwelcome.”

“So, you need lodging for the soldiers and for Jess and Tristan?”

“The soldiers will be leaving after they've had a day or so to rest and refresh themselves and their provisions. As for Jess and Tristan, they're staying indefinitely,” Nathaniel said with a smile. “Jess is a tailor, and she'll be trading here and taking up residence. You can speak with her about her and Tristan's needs. I thought they might like one of the cottages, but it's up to Jess.”

“Of course,” Delilah answered, and then made polite small talk with the small assembled group.

Oghren, Melina, and Evon went inside the Keep at a nod from Rowan. No doubt they'd be looking for a hot bath and a meal that wasn't cooked on a camp fire, and Oghren would be looking for some of Bella's excellent brew.

When Garevel arrived, Nathaniel said, “If you don't need us for anything, I think the Commander and I might go and get cleaned up for dinner. We can eat in the dining hall. Dee, for this week's family dinner, we'll need two extra places.”

He kissed his sister on the cheek and then turned to his son. “I'll see you and your mother later, then, I suppose. Don't worry, your Aunty Delilah will take excellent care of you. By the time you go to bed tonight, you'll have no doubt that she's the one who's really in charge around here.”

Delilah scoffed and rolled her eyes but smiled affectionately at Nathaniel.

“I'll talk to you later, catch you up on things,” Rowan promised Delilah.

Rowan nodded at Jess and winked at Tristan before she took the arm that Nathaniel offered her. They strolled across the courtyard, greeting various workers, craftspeople, merchants, and soldiers.

“It's good to be home,” she said. “We should check in with Reve and maybe Garevel, but then what do you say to a nice, hot, steamy bath?”

“Ah, my love, you read my mind.”

 

~*~

 

They passed a relatively pleasant autumn and winter at Vigil's Keep, the pantries having been well stocked from hunting and fishing parties and Delilah's clever trading. Bella the cellarmaster had been been busy crafting ale and a few other potables, and Albert Dryden worked his trader's magic to acquire some imported wines and other alcohol.

A tutor was acquired for Tristan on the recommendation of the Crown and the boy took up formal lessons. Nathaniel spent a great deal of time with the boy, as well, teaching him family history, archery, darts, and, as promised, horseback riding, along with lessons in leadership and running an arling.

Jess, as predicted, did excellent business at the Keep, and was busy almost all the time just from the soldiers and staff and Wardens, let alone any visitors who came to trade. When her property in Highever was sold, Fergus sent armed couriers to bring her the profits and documents, and she promptly set the money aside for Tristan.

The repairs continued, including those for the stables, and Garevel saw to acquiring more horses, and they also invested in the courier company who used the Keep as a base. The couriers changed their name to the Grey Messengers and took up distinctive grey liveries. Having them present made it much easier to communicate, particularly with Denerim, Amaranthine, and Highever, where they were also setting up bases. Redcliffe was next on the list.

Garevel was quite taken with Rowan's plan to start a programme to train up pages and squires. With Varel's assistance and consultation with Delilah as to housing and board, they struck up a scheme that would not only create opportunities, it would bolster the arling's forces and create ties throughout the bannorn when and if nobles and landholders sent their children to Vigil's Keep for training.

The Grey Wardens continued to send regular patrols into the Deep Roads, but the patrols were gone for weeks at a time, due to the low numbers of darkspawn anywhere near the surface. Oh, they were still about, but for the time being, they were making themselves scarce, and so the Wardens put the focus on trying to locate broodmothers. Rowan implemented her plan to send a company of soldiers with the Wardens, having the soldiers set up a camp at the Deep Roads entrance, patrolling in the area on land for bandits, uncontrolled wild animals, or other disturbances. They would also be on hand when the Wardens eventually emerged, in need of provisions. So far, the scheme was working very well.

Nathaniel and Rowan still regularly went on patrols within the arling, checking on things, meeting with the people, following the progress in the restoration of the city and the return of residents to the once-deserted village in the Blackmarsh, but for the most part, they both felt they had too much to do at the Keep to spend weeks at a time in the Deep Roads, out of communication. Rowan, particularly, felt as if she'd killed enough darkspawn to last a lifetime.

As Satinalia approached, Delilah came up with a plan to have a celebration. In years past, the Arl of Amaranthine would host an open house feast, as did many lords, but Rowan didn't think that was entirely appropriate, and the stores of food weren't quite up to feeding half the arling, so the celebrations were kept in-house. Delilah managed to acquire minstrels, Bella had made a spiced cider that was served warm, and most of the fires were lit.

There was dancing, there was carousing, there was the singing of traditional songs and the playing of traditional games. Tristan was having a grand time of it. Nathaniel had commissioned a replica of the Howe bow for him, and the boy was thrilled with the gift, and went around showing it to everyone, particularly the handful of pages who had come to the Keep for the training programme.

“I got you this,” Nathaniel said to Rowan, and put a package in her hands. “You're very hard to buy gifts for, you know that? You rarely wear jewellery, you don't need weapons or other gear, you don't wear scarves or other things like that. It's hard to think of presents.”

“You didn't have to get me anything,” she answered, taking the package.

“I know. I like to, though. You've given me all kinds of gifts, and I enjoy reciprocating.”

“Mmmm, I know you do. We can talk about reciprocal favours later, if you like.”

“Open the gift.”

She did, and found it was perfume oil, a warm, spicy-sweet, earthy concoction. Not very perfumey at all, but strangely compelling. There was matching body powder, as well.

“Thank you. Where did you get this?”

“Denerim.”

They had made a couple of trips to the capital in recent months. Once, it was because the queen insisted that Rowan, personally, had to approve the independent warehouse for the Grey Warden cache, since Rowan wanted one that was independent of the palace, given what had happened during the civil war. There was no reason for Rowan to go as far as she could see, other than that Anora wanted her to do so. Another time, Teagan had wanted Rowan to come to Denerim to discuss Alistair and what they knew of him. Again, this was something that could have easily been done by letter. Rowan suspected Anora was up to something, but she couldn't work out what.

“I got you something, too,” Rowan said. “It's not as practical as some of the other gifts I've given you, I'm afraid. It's just a token of my affection.”

She handed him the small parcel and he raised an eyebrow at her before undoing the paper wrapping. Inside a velvet pouch was a silverite ring with very dwarven design.

“It's a dwarven puzzle ring,” she said. “It's in interlocking pieces, you see? The pieces come apart and then you have to put it back together. I don't know, it just seemed like something you'd enjoy. I had quite a time working out a size, too. I kept trying to measure your fingers when you were asleep, but you're such a light sleeper it was really difficult. I eventually managed it when you'd had more than a little to drink one night. I kind of helped with that. I kept refilling your mug.”

“I remember that. I wondered what you were up to. And I wasn't all that drunk, anyway.”

“No, but you slept soundly enough for me to measure your finger with a string, and that was the goal. Put it on. It should fit on the ring finger of your right hand.”

And it did. Rowan smiled with pleasure. It looked good on him, too. Sufficiently masculine, but graceful. Lordly, even.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Nathaniel said, holding his hand out to admire the ring. “I'll try taking it apart and putting it back together later.”

“I was told it's moderately difficult. I don't expect you'll have too much trouble, with your clever fingers and all.”

He put his arm around her and kissed her cheek. “So, does this mean we're betrothed?”

“Ah, you won't catch me that easily.”

He smirked at her, grey eyes warm with affection. “For all your protests and evasions, I think I already have.”

“Funny, I thought it was the other way around.”

“Perhaps it's reciprocal.”

“Perhaps it is.”

Nobody paid any attention as they came together in a warm, lingering kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big time jump after this chapter. ;)


	85. A Fools Errand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan receives word of Alistair and his return to Ferelden. 
> 
> (Come on. You knew this was coming.)

Rowan leaned back in her impressive desk chair and looked over the letter yet again. She should have figured it was only a matter of time before there was news of Alistair. It had taken three years from the time he disappeared, but he'd finally been located in Kirkwall, and he stayed put long enough for Teagan to personally go and collect him.

Teagan didn't go into details in the letter, only said that he had explained Anora's restrictions and requirements to Alistair, brought him to Denerim to formally relinquish his claim to the throne, and then on to Rainesfere to begin rehabilitation. It would be a few more months before Alistair would be anywhere near fit for duty as a knight, templar or otherwise, or as a Grey Warden. Apparently, his years of living hand to mouth and surviving on odd jobs had taken a toll. The drunkenness hadn't helped.

So far no word as to Alistair's decision with regard to the Grey Wardens. Rowan had seen Teagan a few times in the past year and a half and when the topic of Alistair came up, Teagan had always assured her that he would make sure Alistair knew the Grey Wardens would take him back only because Rowan had no choice, and that he would not be very welcome. There could be resentment from other Wardens, ones who found his desertion unpalatable. Rowan had grudgingly agreed to do what she could to smooth over something like that, but she couldn't make any guarantees, and, quite frankly, she didn't think much of his desertion, either. Alistair had broken her heart, yes, but her own personal feelings aside, he had shirked his rightful duty. In Rowan's mind, that was a far more serious offence.

She put the letter down with a sigh.

“Are you still brooding about that?” Nathaniel asked from across the room. He had documents spread out over his desk and was making notes while consulting them in various ways. The reconstruction work continued. Estimates were that it would take several more years to restore the Keep to an acceptable level. Of course, in this case, it was the dwarven definition of acceptable, so it promised to be to a level of excellence that would withstand ages.

“Oh, brooding, am I? Well, you would be the expert,” Rowan retorted, and Nathaniel chuckled. “I'm also considering what, if anything, to do about the information Edrick sent regarding Avernus' research. It's... promising. But Avernus is a tricky bastard, to say the least. I'm a little wary.”

Edrick was their somewhat irritable but highly competent alchemist mage, and the first one to volunteer to be stationed at Soldier's Peak when the prospect of studying Avernus' research came up. Of all the Warden mages, Edrick was the most scholarly, the most inclined to research. He was capable enough in battle, but as a researcher, he was excellent. Knowing how to use the resources you had was part of being an effective leader. Rowan used him where he was most capable.

She'd sent Edrick, plus one of the Warden rogues and one of the Warden warriors to Soldier's Peak to set up a secondary base there. It seemed a waste to have a highly secure fortress in the mountains of the Storm Coast and not use it. She didn't know if it was technically in Amaranthine or in Highever, but either way it didn't matter. Highever was well disposed to the Grey Wardens. Amaranthine, of course, was under the order's direct management.

Along with the Wardens, she'd sent a handful of soldiers. They returned once the Wardens were in place, but they also assisted with setting up a raven rookery. Rowan had gone to some lengths to acquire appropriate birds to act as messengers between Soldier's Peak and Vigil's Keep. Pity that griffons were extinct. As Rowan understood it, griffon messengers had once been the way the Grey Wardens kept in touch with each other efficiently.

Effective Grey Warden communication channels were something Rowan thought needed to be remedied, but Weisshaupt seemed uninterested in taking any action toward that. It frustrated her, but it was what it was. But she was in charge of Ferelden's Grey Wardens, and she would do what she could to improve the things she thought needed improvement, with or without Weisshaupt's assistance.

To that end, she had supported and invested in the fledgeling courier company who were now thriving as the Grey Couriers. They were independent, but they headquartered at Vigil's Keep and had outposts around Ferelden and they were starting into Orlais, with talk of moving into the Free Marches.

Rowan was also working up the raven messengers. Remarkably intelligent birds, much more clever than homing pigeons. She'd heard about other kinds of communication via magic or crystals, but thus far had not received any kind of confirmation or other information on it. She might have to send agents to Tevinter to see what could be learned, assuming the Tevenes would cooperate. Happily, money was not much of an object, given the outpouring of donations to the Grey Wardens, the income from the Arling of Amaranthine, and Rowan's wise investments.

“Nate, what if it can be cured? Would you?”

“What, would I submit to a cure for the taint? Only if you did, too.”

“If it worked, it would probably invalidate us as Grey Wardens. We wouldn't be able to sense the darkspawn any more, and I would presume that the increased stamina and other benefits would go, as well. I can't imagine how such a thing would even work, though. The taint is a slow process of dying. I would think that even if it could be removed, the damage would be done.”

“Possibly. But there may be some healing that could undo that. A gifted spirit healer can do extraordinary things, as you know.”

“Indeed. I'm glad to have some on hand now.”

Amongst the archive and extensive magical library Avernus maintained were the notes and information needed to take up that speciality. Melina, naturally, had volunteered to become a spirit healer. Everything about her seemed suitable, and Rowan was happy to have the mage take it up. Their other spirit healers were Edrick and Kendran, a runaway Circle mage, an elf from the Denerim alienage. Kendran was a quiet sort, an observer more than a talker, and when he did speak, he was concise, intelligent, and insightful. He seemed to take to spirit healing very well, and Rowan was grateful for that.

The Deep Roads were still remarkably quiet. There had been no reported darkspawn activity on the surface anywhere in Ferelden. The Grey Warden patrols now went out with a company of soldiers who would set up camp at the Deep Roads' entrance and wait for the Wardens' return, with instructions to report back if there were unusual delays or complications. It was considered boring duty, just maintaining a camp for weeks at a time, but the soldiers were at least able to make surface patrols looking for bandits or other unusual or unwanted activity in a given area.

They still needed more Grey Wardens. Orlais, as Rowan understood, had scores of them, maybe even hundreds, and a number of strongholds, forts, and outposts, but Ferelden just had Vigil's Keep and Soldier's Peak, and the latter was nearly impossible to find unless you specifically knew the way through the maze of abandoned mining tunnels, since the original passage to the mountaintop fortress was long since destroyed or blocked by time, avalanche, and acts of nature or war.

They'd picked up a couple of warriors and yet more rogues, but the number of volunteers had dwindled to nothing and it was hard to justify conscription when there was no Blight and the Deep Roads were so quiet. Still, it seemed wrong to have so few Grey Wardens to look after an entire nation. They could only do so much. Her success at ending the Blight was, in Rowan's opinion, a fluke, and that kind of luck or destiny couldn't be counted on.

“We might have to start hanging around in prisons and alienages and such, looking for likely recruits,” Rowan commented out loud.

“What brought that on?” Nathaniel asked, frowning.

“Just where my train of thought went, that's all. We need more Grey Wardens. We need outposts in Redcliffe and maybe Gwaren. Redcliffe owes me, so they'd be willing to provide space in the castle there, I'm sure. And I don't know much about Gwaren, but it was Loghain's teyrnir. I assume Anora has control of it now, and she'd certainly be happy for Grey Wardens to post there.”

Nathaniel just nodded and went back to his own work. He knew when she wanted and needed his input and when she was just thinking aloud. He was a good sounding board. Of course, sometimes, he did have an opinion on her musings, and he wasn't afraid to voice it.

They did agree more often than not, but now and then, they still got into arguments about one thing or another. And that, of course, could and often did lead to very enjoyable intimate encounters, frequently in their shared office. They maintained an open door policy, but everyone at Vigil's Keep knew to knock if the door was closed.

“If Alistair insists on coming back to the Grey Wardens, you can station him at Soldier's Peak,” Nathaniel said. “He couldn't easily run away from there, and you wouldn't have to deal with him.”

“Very true. Although if he did decide to do a runner, I wouldn't necessarily know about it immediately, and that might make Anora a bit cross. I don't know. It's irritating. All of it. But so far he seems happy to remain in Rainesfere. With any luck, that's where he'll stay.”

Of course, he did not. A few months later, Rowan received a letter from Teagan. It was addressed to her personally, rather than her formal rank and title.

> _My Dearest Rowan,_
> 
> _I have spoken with Alistair at length on this matter which concerns us. Alistair insists that he owes the Grey Wardens a debt and that he wants to make it up to Duncan. I have tried to persuade him to reconsider, but he will not be moved. To his credit, he seems to be deeply ashamed of what he did, but he will not discuss the matter with me. I do not know if he will discuss it with you or anyone else._
> 
> _I also feel I should warn you that I suspect he fancies himself to be still in love with you. For all I know, he is. He has said nothing about it, but there is a peculiar kind of expression he gets, and a tone of voice he uses when he speaks of you. I believe he may entertain thoughts of reconciliation. I have made it very clear to him that you are no longer available to him or to anyone else, but I don't know that he believes me. He may think I'm saying this simply to dissuade him._
> 
> _I should also advise you that he knows that you and I are close friends, and he has heard rumours that we were lovers. He asked me about it directly. I told him that who I did or did not take to my bed was none of his business, and that it was especially none of his concern who you took to yours after he cast you aside. He did not seem satisfied with that answer, but that is all I'm willing to say on the topic. I thought you should know. Forewarned is forearmed, as they say._
> 
> _I should like to bring Alistair to Vigil's Keep within the month. I will remain for a few days or perhaps a week, depending on how things go, and then I will continue on to Denerim, where I will be but a day's ride away. I hope this letter gives you sufficient time for you to prepare for his arrival. I wish I could tell you he will be no trouble, but, alas, I fear he might be more trouble than either of us imagined._
> 
> _Ever at your service,_
> 
> _Teagan_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the extremely heavy foreshadowing has come to fruition. ;-)


	86. Fools Rush In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan confronts Alistair.

Rowan drew herself up to her full height, put her shoulders back, and proceeded to the great hall. Nathaniel was with her, a pace or two behind. Watching her back, as it were.

She saw Teagan and her gaze immediately moved to the man standing with him. There was a clenching feeling in her chest. Tall, broad-shouldered, his sandy hair still clipped short with the fringe pushed up and in the front. He turned to say something to Teagan and Rowan caught sight of Alistair's distinctive profile, with his long, straight nose and strong brow. He even still had the scruffy goatee on his chin. But he looked so much older, so much harder than he had. The years he'd spent wandering the Free Marches had taken their toll, with him living hand to mouth on whatever odd jobs he could get. She wanted to weep for him. She also wanted to smack him on the skull and tell him what fool he had been. And she wanted to turn and run the other way. She did none of those things. She was Rowan Cousland, Commander of the Grey, and she was going to act the part.

Teagan greeted Rowan warmly with a hug and a chaste but very friendly kiss on the cheek, and she gave him a kiss in return. She smiled at him, grateful for his presence and support. She was still a little irritated that she had been put into this position, but she didn't blame Teagan for that. It was mostly Anora's doing, and while Rowan didn't like it, she understood the political reasoning. But it was still annoying.

Teagan released her from his embrace and Rowan turned to look at Alistair. It still hurt. It had never stopped hurting. She was still angry, still nursing a grudge. She knew she had to forgive him, she knew she was never going to heal unless she let go of her resentment, but it was difficult. Their eyes met. His expression was a mix of fear, sorrow, anger, and... love. Maker's breath. Teagan was right. Alistair still had warm feelings toward her. She looked away.

“Lieutenant Commander Howe,” Teagan said with a friendly smile, offering a hand in greeting. “Good to see you, as always.”

Alistair managed to tear his gaze away from Rowan long enough to look at Nathaniel.

“Howe, is it?” Alistair asked.

“That's right. If you have a problem with that, speak up now,” Nathaniel said.

“I don't have a problem,” Alistair answered, a little insolently. “You're the second-in-command?”

“I am,” Nathaniel confirmed.

“Huh. I've been a Grey Warden longer than you have, yet you outrank me. Usually, seniority counts for a lot in the Wardens.”

“You were a Grey Warden for, what, a year or a little more?” Nathaniel asked pointedly. “And then you deserted during a Blight. I think it's safe to say the years you were drunk in the Free Marches can't be counted toward your standing and seniority as a Grey Warden.”

Alistair inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring. He narrowed his eyes. Nathaniel stood his ground, staring back at Alistair. If they'd had fur, both of them would have had theirs standing on end.

“Let's take this to the office,” Rowan said. She shot Nathaniel a quelling look and he gestured for her to lead the way.

Nathaniel shut the office door when the four of them were inside and then he leaned against his desk, folding his arms across his chest, watching. Teagan took a seat in front of Rowan's desk, as did Alistair. Rowan sat in her very tall, very imposing chair behind her very big, very sturdy desk and looked at them both. She glanced at Nathaniel and he gave her a nod and a small smile.

“First point,” she said in her best _I-am-in-command-here_ voice. “Everyone in this room is aware that Alistair and I once had an intimate relationship. That relationship ended on the day that Alistair left me, and it is not a topic I will discuss. His desertion from the Grey Wardens is my primary concern. Are we all clear?”

Rowan noted Nathaniel's smirk. She knew he had no intention of talking about Alistair's romance with her. Certainly, Teagan would never bring up such a thing. Rowan knew it was petty, but she took some pleasure in seeing how Alistair's neck and ears turned red.

“Alistair,” Rowan said, still using her commanding voice, despite the way her insides were churning. “I am obligated by my agreement with the queen to accept you back into the ranks of the Grey Wardens if you insist you finally want to serve. However, I am under no obligation to allow you to go out on patrols or into the Deep Roads or to ever allow you to set foot outside this fortress. I have full discretion in how and where you are assigned. Bann Teagan, has he sobered up? What about his fitness for duty?”

“He is sober, Commander,” Teagan said. “Once he got past the initial stages of recovery, he has voluntarily refrained as far as I have seen or heard. As for his training, Alistair has been working with my own training master, along with my elite knights. He is fighting fit.”

“He'll have to be assessed, of course,” Rowan said, “but thank you for the effort you've put in, Bann Teagan. Alistair, you deserted the Grey Wardens over a command decision. My command decision. I want to hear your side of it, and I want to hear exactly why you think I should ever trust you again.” She was angrier than she had realised.

“You don't have any reason to trust me, not now,” Alistair admitted, with an expression like a sad puppy. Rowan's heart felt like it quivered and she narrowed her eyes, working to maintain an attitude of exasperation as a defence against her former lover's still-adorable manner. And the fact that Nathaniel had once said much the same to her was not lost on Rowan, either.

“If you desert again,” Rowan told him, “Anora will have you hunted down, assuming I don't find you first and kill you, myself. I have never killed anyone under my command, but I would make an exception for you.”

“I'll bet you'd enjoy that,” Alistair said insolently. Nathaniel was on his feet in a flash, scowling. Rowan glanced at him and shook her head slightly.

“I might,” she said with a slow smile, “but I doubt it. Hard, painful experience has shown me that revenge is not very satisfying. It's a romantic idea, that all you have to do is kill someone and all will be well. The cold truth is that it doesn't change a thing. The people you love are still dead, the world is still a dark and fearsome place, you're still alone in your nightmares, and now you're a killer on top of all that. In fact, it was Duncan who told me that a Grey Warden's duty had to come first, before everything, even revenge. I take it you never got that speech.”

Alistair lowered his head. Nathaniel leaned back against his desk again, once more folding his arms. He was still frowning.

“You're right. I did desert,” Alistair said mournfully. “I betrayed Duncan's trust in me. I keep remembering what he said to me, to both of us, at Ostagar, right before he sent us to the Tower of Ishal. He said we were both Grey Wardens, and that he expected us both to live up to that title. You did that. You would have made him proud, and I'll bet he'd be happy to have you as his successor. I let him down. And myself.”

His contrition caught her by surprise, but she wasn't letting him off the hook. “Remorse is all well and good,” Rowan said as coldly as she could manage. “Do you remember what Senior Warden Riordan said at the Landsmeet about there being compelling reasons to have as many Grey Wardens as possible on the scene with the archdemon? Do you know what he meant? Do you know why a Grey Warden has to be the one to kill the archdemon if the Blight is to end?”

“I always assumed it's something to do with the taint we carry,” Alistair said, raising his head. “Is there more?”

“So it's true that Duncan never told you,” Rowan said with a heavy sigh and a shake of her head. “That's what I thought. Teagan, this is Grey Warden business, so I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

“As you wish, Commander,” the bann answered in his smooth, courtier's voice. He turned to Alistair and patted him on the shoulder and then turned toward the door. Nathaniel nodded and opened the door.

“Ask for Mistress Dryden,” Nathaniel said. “She'll see to your accommodation and can help you with anything else you need.”

Nathaniel shut the door after Teagan's departure. He walked casually over to Rowan's desk and sat down in the chair Teagan had just vacated.

Alistair eyed Nathaniel warily, and it suddenly occurred to Rowan that Teagan had never said whether Alistair was aware that she and Nathaniel were lovers. Alistair may well have heard the tavern songs, but not all of them mentioned Nathaniel by name, and some people still managed to miss the connection. Rowan did, rather peevishly, hope that Alistair had heard the songs about the _Royal Bastard_ , though. Even Alistair would be unable to miss such a blatant reference.

“Alistair,” Rowan said, glancing up at the tapestry of the Hero of Ferelden, “none of the Grey Wardens who have ever killed an archdemon have survived, and there is a reason for that. Archdemons can't be killed by normal means. An archdemon's soul will leave their dying body, but it simply moves into the next nearest tainted being and the archdemon continues to command the horde. This is probably at least part of why they surround themselves with an army of darkspawn. You can kill the archdemon over and over and over again, and they just jump from one vessel to the next to the next. Darkspawn are empty vessels, so to speak. Soulless. A Grey Warden, on the other hand, is not soulless but they are tainted, so when a Grey Warden kills an archdemon, and the archdemon's soul moves to the nearest tainted vessel, it jumps to Grey Warden striking the killing blow. There is a clash of wills, of souls. Whatever it is, the archdemon dies, so does the Grey Warden, and the Blight is ended. _In death, sacrifice._ ”

“But that means that...” Alistair said quietly. “Loghain...”

“Loghain sacrificed himself to end the Blight, yes, and it was intentional and deliberate on his part. I was going to do it, but he talked me into letting him take that final blow.”

“I left you to die...” Alistair managed to choke out.

“That's not my point,” Rowan said sharply, even though she was glad he realised that. “You need to understand the seriousness of what you did. Riordan was dead long before we got to the archdemon. He did wound it significantly, though, and that helped to enable us to beat it, so his sacrifice was not in vain. But his death left only Loghain and me, and it was miraculous that both of us were still alive by the time we got to the top of the tower at Fort Drakon to fight the archdemon. If we had both fallen before we could reach the archdemon...”

“The Blight would have continued. Ferelden would have been overrun with darkspawn by the time more Wardens could arrive,” Alistair said. His face was ashen. He put a hand on his stomach as if it hurt.

“Alistair,” Rowan said firmly, “when it came to the moment of truth when the Grey Wardens absolutely needed you the most, you deserted them. I understand that you were upset and that you didn't know the full magnitude of just how much we needed Grey Wardens, but there is no excuse for what you did. We needed more Grey Wardens on hand, Loghain was there and a skilled warrior, and I made him a Grey Warden because it made sense to use the resources we had available. Being a Grey Warden is about vigilance and sacrifice, and doing whatever you must to assure victory. In the end and, indeed, from the moment of his Joining, Loghain accepted the sacred duty of a Grey Warden. I will admit, at least in private, that I never really liked Loghain, though we did come to a place of mutual understanding and respect. But if there is one thing in this world that I do understand, it is duty. Do you?”

Alistair shifted uncomfortably in his chair, frowning with what looked for all the world like annoyance. Nathaniel regarded him curiously. Rowan just watched him, her head back, looking down her nose slightly. The only way she could deal with him was to maintain a superior attitude. If she let herself soften, if she let down her guard, it would be the end of her.

“I know I failed,” Alistair said eventually, staring at the tip of his boot as he spoke. “I failed Duncan and I failed you, too. I don't even know what to say. When you recruited Loghain, I was furious. It felt like you were ignoring everything Loghain had done, that you were approving of what he did. All the Grey Wardens, gone, and you were telling Loghain it was all right and inviting him to join us, to be our... comrade. I just couldn't...”

Did he really think she approved of the horrific things Loghain had done, or, if he hadn't done them directly, that he had approved of and supported?

“It was a command decision, nothing more,” Rowan said icily. “Purely pragmatic. I tried to talk to you about it at the time, but you were too busy shouting at me in front of the entire assembled bannorn and demanding that people make you king so that you could kill Loghain. I intended to speak with you after the Landsmeet, have it out like we had in the past, but that didn't happen because you got banished for all your talk of taking the throne.”

“I was... you're right. It was stupid. Beyond stupid. I have regretted it ever since.”

Rowan pointedly ignored him. “If you can't accept command, I will never send you into the field as a Grey Warden. If you were to pull some stupid shit like that again in the Deep Roads, you could get your entire party killed, and I have precious few Grey Wardens as it is. I won't have you endangering people with your childish temper tantrums.”

“Tantrums... Yes. I suppose it was, at that,” he said, as if it was the first time he'd considered it. “I was just... so angry. I couldn't think or even see straight.”

Rowan sighed. She understood that, had for a while, but she didn't want to coddle him or encourage him to continue thinking that way.

“I didn't betray the Grey Wardens, Alistair, no matter what you want to tell yourself. I've given my life to the order.”

Alistair nodded and looked up at the tapestry that portrayed the Hero of Ferelden fighting the archdemon in all its stylised, unrealistically represented glory.

“For what it's worth,” Rowan said, “at the time, I really didn't understand what you meant when you said that the Grey Wardens were like a family. I do now. In all honesty, even if I had understood, I probably would still have recruited Loghain, because I hate to waste resources and as it turns out, Riordan actually knew what he was talking about, but I would have gone about it differently, I think. Maybe we could have...” Her eyes had the nerve to mist over and she took a sharp, deep breath. “I wish Duncan had told you the truth about why Grey Wardens are necessary to end a Blight. But if he had, would it have mattered? Would you have been willing to stand with Loghain?”

“I don't know,” Alistair admitted. “Maybe. If I'd known. Because you... I would have wanted to try to save you. And I wouldn't have wanted Loghain to get all the glory. Not after what he did.”

So there it was. Alistair would have sacrificed his own life to kill the archdemon just to keep Loghain from doing it. He still would have left her, he just would have done it heroically. That realisation was like a knife in her heart.

She knew that wasn't particularly fair or sensible, but her head was spinning and she couldn't be reasonable at the moment. She hoped it wasn't showing on her face, but a glance at Nathaniel told her that he saw her vulnerability. She didn't know if Alistair did; he had never been as observant or as attuned to her as Nathaniel was. Rowan took a breath and pulled back into herself, hiding her feelings, stuffing them down.

“I have spent a lot of time thinking about what happened,” Alistair said ruefully, “what you did, what I did, all of that. I know I was wrong. No matter how angry I was or how I felt, I should never have done what I did. Duncan would have been so disappointed in me. I know that. Now, I want to make up for that. I need to. I need to make Duncan proud of me, even if he's gone.”

Rowan knew full well that Alistair idolised Duncan. She also happened to agree that Alistair had very much fallen short of Duncan's expectations. It was always about Duncan with him. She barely factored in at all. Another slap in the face.

Again, she thought, in some still-rational part of her mind, that she was being unfair, especially when she'd already said very clearly that she was not willing to talk about their past relationship. When she was calmer and in a state that did not include a dozen different potent emotions swirling every which way, making her disoriented and unable to be reasonable, she might be able to be more thoughtful, but not now.

“Can you accept command, or are you likely to throw fits when told to do things you don't agree with or when things don't go your way?” she asked, more sharply than she had intended. “Go away and think about that. We'll talk another time. Right now I need to be alone with the Lieutenant Commander. He and I have things to discuss.”

“About me?” Alistair asked as he stood up.

“What I discuss with my lieutenant is none of your concern,” Rowan snapped. “Get out. And shut the door when you go.”

Alistair went.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is going to be NSFW, but it is directly related to the story, anyway. ;)


	87. Distraction (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel does what he does best and distracts Rowan. 
> 
> NSFW, naturally, though there is some character development at the start and a bit at the end. The middle bit, though, pretty much pure smut. If you don't want to read that, stop when... well, you'll know when. It's pretty clear. Rowan's quite straightfoward about these things. ;)

Nathaniel looked across the desk at Rowan with concern. He could see she was emotionally and mentally distressed, though she'd been hiding it reasonably well.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I feel so many different things,” Rowan said with a deep sigh. “Everything ranging from rage to shame to guilt to sorrow to nostalgia to some kind of weird fondness and right back to rage again, plus some other stuff I can't identify thrown into the mix just to confuse things. I'm not good at this, Nate.”

“Not good at what?”

“Emotions.”

He chuckled.

“Don't laugh.”

“Oh, I'm not laughing at you. I'm just surprised that you're willing to admit that. Put you in front of a dragon and tell you to take care of it and you rush in and slay the beast and eventually end up with a suit of dragon skin armour that you try to pass off as leather because you think wearing dragon skin is too ostentatious. Ask you to sort out your feelings, and you go to pieces. It's one of your most endearing and most frustrating qualities.”

“Oh, thank you. So now I'm frustrating?”

“Not just now. You've always been frustrating.”

“Are you trying to make me angry?”

“No. Though I can if it will help.”

He meant that. He was willing to do anything to make her feel better. If she wanted to be furious and get into a fight with him, he could accommodate her. He would feed her, let her beat the hell out of him, dominate her, sexually or otherwise, let her dominate him, listen to her rant, hold her while she cried, dance with her, put her to bed and tell her a story, there as no limit. All he needed was the cue as to what she needed.

“Just... stop. Please. I can't think. I feel like I can barely breathe. I also feel like I might throw up.”

“All right. First things first. Stand up.”

She did as he told her and he tugged her blouse free from where she had it tucked into the long skirt she was wearing before he reached underneath and started to loosen her corset. It was Ferelden style, just encasing her waist, with a chemise underneath that was pulled tight by the corset to provide breast support. Which meant, of course, that her breasts were covered by only thin cloth and as he pulled the laces, her tits fell into a more natural position where his knuckles kept grazing them until he moved further down with the laces.

“Are you... Nate, I'm...”

“I thought it might help you breathe, that's all. Though if you want something more, I'm more than happy to give you whatever you need. Just tell me what you want and I'm on it. But right now, sit down and focus on breathing. I'll be right back, I promise.”

He turned and left the room, closing the door behind him, and went to the kitchen with long strides. He retrieved an empty bucket from the pantry and, without explaining himself to the staff or anyone else, brought it back to the office and shut the door behind him as he entered.

“Just in case you do get sick,” he said, as he put the bucket down. “What else can I do to help?”

“How about I get my knickers off and you bend me over the desk?”

“Oh, I see. You feel up to that?”

She nodded.

“Another suggestion,” he said, keeping his face straight and his voice neutral. “How about you get your knickers off and sit on your desk while I kiss you senseless and maybe demonstrate how very clever my fingers are? And then maybe I'll sit myself down in the big chair with my face between your legs and pleasure you until you can't think of anything but my mouth on you and how much you want my cock inside of you. Then I'll be happy to bend you over anything you like.”

She groaned. Good. That was the effect he was hoping for. Distraction always worked well with her, and sexual distraction worked best of all.

Rowan got up from the chair and reached up under her skirt to wriggle out of her underpants, which she left on the floor. She looked at him and then hiked up her skirt, turned around, and hopped up on the desk while he came around to stand behind the desk, in front of her. She reached out and pulled him to her and wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his torso.

“So impatient, my saucy minx,” he said with a half smile.

Maker, she was delicious in every sense of the word. He did very much want to get his face between her legs, but first he wanted to kiss her, and maybe a few other things. He stepped up and put his arms around her and put his lips on hers. She responded instantly, her arms going around him as she sucked at his lips and thrust her tongue into his mouth hungrily.

Yes, _oh, yes,_ her arousal and the pleasure she took from him was as intoxicating as the pleasure he took from her. Maybe more. They played off of each other, mutually arousing, mutually pleasuring, driving each other a little mad. It was always like this, and it was like nothing he'd ever known. Even after all this time, he never grew tired of her. She lit him on fire just by being herself, and he had reason to think that was mutual.

He got hold of the hem of her blouse and she let go of him, helping him to drag it over her head and off. The loosened corset had allowed the undergarment below to go slack, and he pushed one of the chemise straps off of her shoulder and kissed her there, then pulled the other strap down. It bound her arms very slightly and he brought up both of his hands so he could fill them with her tits through the fabric, gently squeezing and rubbing until her nipples were puckered and hard, poking through the fabric against his palms and fingertips. _Maker, yes_. She was moaning, her head tipped back, hair falling all around her upper back and shoulders.

He leaned in and kissed along the column of her neck and she moaned louder, panting, starting to whimper. He bit her neck lightly a couple of times, then he picked a likely spot and planted his lips on her soft flesh and sucked as he kissed.

“Careful, you'll leave a mark,” she protested when she realised what he was doing.

“Mmm, yes, that's the point.”

“What? Why?”

“Just marking my territory.”

She looked like she was going to argue with him but he tweaked her nipples through the fabric of her chemise and she stopped talking, pressing her tits into his hands, begging for more with her body language, so he tugged the chemise down to expose her breasts and lowered his body to take one of her hard nipples into his mouth, suckling it and rubbing his tongue over the aroused flesh until she was frenzied with pleasure before he moved to the other side.

At the same time, he slipped a hand down between her legs and started to rub his fingertip in slow, lazy circles around her pearl, steadily moving closer and closer until he was brushing the top of it just the way he knew she loved. She rewarded him with breathless, passionate moans and whimpers and a stream of the pleasure-addled talk that he loved. He let go of the nipple he had in his mouth and straightened up.

“Come,” he told her, and she did, legs trembling, clinging to him as she did, panting, moaning. He let her finish and then grabbed the chair and pulled it to the desk before he sat down. She put her feet on the chair's arms while she leaned back on the desk on her elbows, letting her thighs fall apart for him, and what a beautiful, sexy, arousing sight that was.

Nathaniel kissed the inside of one of her thighs, and then the other, moving closer and closer to his goal. By the time he got there, she was more than ready for more. He kissed her mound, rubbing his lips and the tip of his nose against the dense, curly hair and inhaling her unique scent. He kissed lower, pressing kisses to her fragrant lips and he was rewarded with her sighs and whimpers.

He put out his tongue and licked along her slit, teasing, but not too much. He wanted to arouse her, but too much and she'd start to get frustrated, and that was the opposite of the effect he wanted to achieve. She was moaning now, murmuring to him, encouraging him to give her more. He pushed the tip of his tongue between her folds and she shuddered. He pressed his mouth more firmly to her flesh and rubbed the flat of his tongue against her pearl and she arched her back and spread her thighs wider, urging him on. He licked with a slow, steady pace, loving the feeling of her on his tongue, the slightly acidic taste of her. She was panting, moaning, telling him it was good, that she wanted more, that she loved it, telling him not to stop, begging him to make her come, and then she did come for him, whimpering, moaning his name.

He backed off with his mouth but slid two fingers inside of her and she grunted her approval. He pulled them back and then pushed back in, twisting his hand as he did, and then leaned forward to put his mouth on her again.

Maker, she was beautiful. He loved this, loved everything about it. The scent, the way she squirmed and moaned. He loved making her come, how she lost herself to the pleasure he gave her. He turned his hand so he could press against that sweet spot inside of her while he captured her pearl between his lips and gently sucked. She immediately clenched around his fingers and he groaned. His cock was so hard it was almost painful. All this time and she still had this effect on him, and it was glorious. She was lying on the desk now, one arm over her eyes as she panted and moaned. He could tell she was close by the noises she made and the way she was squeezing his fingers. Just a little more and, yes, there she was, her back arching, her muscles bearing down on his fingers, hips thrusting, and yes, oh, yes, that was the most beautiful thing, the way she came undone in response to his touch.

He let her come down and then kissed her pearl once.

“Do you want more of this?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. Please. More.” She could barely speak, and he loved it.

Very well, then. He kissed her again and then got back at it with his lips and tongue, sucking, licking, doing all the things he knew drove her wild. He worked the fingers he had inside of her as she made a fair bit of noise as she started a chain of climaxes that left her breathless and shaking. She reached down with her hand and gently pushed his head away, and he moved back to let her get her bearings.

“How are you, now?” he asked. He still had two fingers inside of her, and he wriggled them a little. She gasped in response.

“I'm... You know what you said about me wanting your cock inside me? And you bending me over the desk? That.”

“Right. Well, get up and turn around, minx. You wanted to be bent over the desk, after all, and I live to serve.”

She gave him that smile, the sexy one, the one that said she was very, very aroused. She wriggled off the desk and grabbed him by the back of the neck, kissing him passionately, no doubt tasting herself on his lips. She moaned into his mouth and he returned her kisses with the same passion and desire while she reached down and rubbed his hard cock through the fabric of his breeches. When he groaned in response, she chuckled. In a moment, she had unlaced his breeches and she was tugging them down, along with his smallclothes. His very hard cock sprang out and she caressed him lightly, using just the tips of her fingers, making him shudder with pleasure.

She broke their kiss and very deliberately pulled his breeches down to his knees. She turned around, hiking her skirt way up to her waist, spreading her legs, and she leaned forward over the desk, presenting him with the shapely arse he loved to look at. He reached out and caressed the firm flesh, then reached up between her legs to rub her pearl. He loved the way she arched her back, making her beautiful arse thrust into the air like a cat in heat. He stepped up close and rubbed his cock against her slick flesh and she moaned the word _yes_. He teased her a little more, and she growled. He chuckled at that. With a quick, hard thrust he was inside of her and, Maker, she felt so good, warm and wet and tight, wrapped around him like she was made for him. He grabbed hold of her hips and drew back, thrusting into her again hard, making her cry out with pleasure and the sound thrilled and excited him even more.

He drew back again and pushed into her again, and again, trying to keep a slow and steady pace, even though his body demanded he go faster. This was for her. He meant to draw it out, and he was going to take his cues from her. At the moment, she was bucking her hips back at him with every thrust, and grunting with pleasure every time.

It wasn't long before she was tightening around him, squeezing from deep inside, and, oh, Maker, that was good, _so good._ He told her to come for him, to come now, and she did, her back arched, tits pressed against the desk. He took one hand off of her hip, raising it up before he brought it down smartly on her arse with a noisy smack and she cried out with surprise and pleasure. He loved how well he knew her, knew what worked for her and when to push her.

She hadn't come down all the way, he could tell from her body language and the way she gripped his cock, so he picked up his pace.

“Harder,” she demanded, and he did as she asked and his pleasure grew with hers. It was getting more and more difficult to keep his focus, but he managed to land a smack on her other cheek and she cried out again.

“You feel so good. Maker, Rowan, you are a glorious, amazing, incredible fuck, you know that?” It was nothing he hadn't told her before, but he meant it. He always meant it. She was undoubtedly the best, most fulfilling lover he'd ever had, and their shared sexual alchemy was always dazzling.

He raised his hand and gave her another smack in a slightly different location and she grunted, somehow managing to tell him to do it again, so he did, on the other side again, and then he grabbed her hips with both hands so he could hold her still. His pleasure was building, growing, the muscles in his thighs and belly and groin tightening, and he knew he wasn't likely to be able to hold off very much longer.

“Come for me,” he told her, “and I'll come with you, yeah?”

She nodded and he increased his pace. She squeezed his cock hard as she started to climax, raising herself up on her elbows and bucking against him, gasping his name, pulling him over the edge of his climax with her own pleasure. He gave a strangled cry of ecstasy and spent himself inside of her, her body still squeezing him, milking him for every drop of seed he had in him, and he gladly gave it to her.

He was just catching his breath when the door burst open. Nathaniel and Rowan both snapped their heads up and stared at it and at Alistair, who was standing there staring back, his eyes wide with shock and his jaw slack.

“Get out!” Rowan and Nathaniel shouted in unison, and the flustered younger man stammered something or other as his face, neck, and ears turned bright red before he scurried away and slammed the door behind him.

“The fool needs to learn how to knock,” Nathaniel growled as he stepped back, caressing Rowan's arse before he started pulling up his pants. “Nobody else in Vigil's Keep would dare barge in here or anywhere else without knocking. That's what an open door policy is all about. When the door is open, you're welcome, and when it's not, keep out, or at least knock before you go rushing in. Fool certainly got an eyeful.”

Rowan righted herself and started to adjust her clothes as her skirt fell back around her legs.

“Are you all right?” she asked as she tugged the chemise up over her breasts.

“Who, me? Well, apart from being quite happily satisfied from having just fucked the sexiest, most beautiful woman in Thedas, I'm somewhere between irritated and amused. How are you?”

“I feel better. Head's not so cluttered. You're always a good tonic for whatever ails me.”

He smiled. “I'm here for you whenever you need a bit of distraction, my love.”

“I expect I'll be in need of your expert attention again later, after we talk to Teagan,” she said as she adjusted her blouse and started tucking it in to the waistband of her skirt. “And if Alistair is going to be around here, I expect I'm going to need a lot more.”

Nathaniel grinned. “From now on, I'll make a habit of locking the door, then.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not going to torment poor Alistair for long. 
> 
> I'm also very strongly thinking of writing his own story, from when he's retrieved from Kirkwall. Despite how angry Rowan and, by extension, Nathaniel have been with Alistair, I do love him and I don't want to see him left blowing in the wind, so to speak. We all make stupid mistakes when we're young. He is redeemable, at least in my version of the universe.


	88. To Kiss A Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan and Alistair have a heart-to-heart talk and a bit more than that.

Over the next few days, Rowan decided they should bring Reve into the discussion, so Nathaniel, Reve, and Rowan sat in the office and discussed what she was coming to think of as 'the Alistair problem'. One the one hand, Alistair did seem sincere in his desire to make up for what he'd done. On the other, he'd proven himself to be flighty and resistant to command, so he wasn't exactly trustworthy. Sending him on a patrol into the Deep Roads seemed unwise.

They decided, eventually, to send Alistair on the routine patrols undertaken by the arling's soldiers. It was a bit of a waste of his Grey Warden abilities, but it would give him a chance to prove himself, and if he deserted, it wouldn't be disastrous for anyone but Alistair.

Reve agreed to keep an eye on Alistair's dealings with the other Grey Wardens. None of them seemed to like him, except for Melina, who, true to her nature, went out of her way to be kind. Not that Alistair was having that. He appeared to be intent on being as miserable as possible.

Rowan was aware that Alistair frequently watched her. When he did, his expression was a combination of longing, fear, and sorrow, with occasional flashes of resentment. He especially watched when she was with Nathaniel, and if he saw them touching in any way or even smiling at each other, a look of anguish would cross his face. Rowan suspected that Alistair was deliberately tormenting himself.

Nathaniel was also aware of the situation. When he caught Alistair watching, Nathaniel gave him his best and most terrifying scowl, and would take Rowan's hand, lean closer to her, put his arm around her, or some other gesture of intimate familiarity. Rowan was surprised the hair on his neck didn't stand up, he was that much like a mabari defending his territory from another male.

One afternoon during a midday meal during which Nathaniel was busy in a meeting with the reconstruction crew, Rowan found herself seated across from Alistair when he deliberately came over to the table where she was eating. His sad eyes and longing glances made her so uncomfortable she left as soon as she'd finished eating and fled to the battlements of the Keep, where she could take in the view of the countryside and generally be alone to think.

It was a crisp but pleasant autumn day. Rowan inhaled deeply and leaned forward on the crenelated wall, putting her weight on her palms as she looked out across the hills, forests, and the Hafter River valley. When she heard footsteps approaching along the wall, she stood abruptly and spun around, expecting to see a page with a message or some other such person. She was both disturbed and annoyed to find it was Alistair.

“What do you want?” she asked with a frown as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“I want to talk to you, if that's all right?” His familiar voice still affected her, though where it once filled her with tenderness and pleasure, now it stirred up all manner of difficult and even painful emotions.

“About what?”

“About us.”

“There is no _us_ , Alistair.”

“There are a lot of things that need to be said but have been left unsaid, and they should be. Said, I mean.”

Rowan turned back to the view to hide the smirk of amusement. His awkward charm still affected her, it would seem. “Speak, then, if it will get it out of your system.”

“I want to tell you again that I really do know how stupid I was. I should have trusted you, and I should have known better. Oghren got me alone and told me some things about what happened after I left, about how you were. I... know I hurt you. I hurt myself, too.”

“So it would seem.”

“I just hated Loghain so much. I kept thinking about Duncan and how he died because of Loghain...”

“You know what? I had my own reasons to hate Loghain. You haven't got anything on me when it comes to that. But let's face facts, here. Duncan probably would have died in that battle with or without Loghain's intervention, and it was by Cailan's order that all of the Grey Wardens were on the battlefield instead of taking up more strategic positions. The battle was a cock up on all sides, and for a lot of reasons. I can tell you that if Loghain had known _why_ Grey Wardens were necessary, he would have made different decisions, I'm sure of that. But beyond all of that, the battle at Ostagar was part of a Blight, and a war. People die in Blights, Alistair. And they die in wars.”

“I... yes. Duncan even told me that any one of us could die in battle at any time. I just... I... kind of lost my sense for a little while.”

“I knew you wouldn't like my decision, but I didn't expect you to...” _leave me_ , she thought, but she didn't say it aloud. “I loved you, Alistair, and I did care about your opinions, but ending the Blight was more important than me, than us, than any of our petty concerns. I thought you felt the same way. You said you loved me, but...” He didn't know her. Had he ever?

“I... I know. I know.” Alistair sighed and hung his head. “Believe me, I knew as soon as I calmed down that I'd made a really bad, really stupid mistake, but I didn't know how to...”

“Everyone told me you'd be back,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. “They all said that you wouldn't abandon the Grey Wardens, wouldn't abandon me. I held out some hope that you might... But you didn't.”

“Rowan, I was banished. I couldn't come back.”

“You could have. Teagan, Eamon, and I could have fixed things with Anora, and you could have come back so long as you agreed to give up all claim to the throne and serve the Grey Wardens. She just couldn't have you walking around trying to be king.”

“I didn't know that. Not then.”

“Yes. I suppose that's true. Doesn't matter now, anyway. What's done is done.” Her heart ached, but at the same time, she felt like a weight had fallen away. It still hurt

“So... what happened at the final battle?” he asked very quietly. “I mean, you told me some but...”

“Oh, I fought my way through hordes of darkspawn, saw Riordan fall to his death, and when it came to the end, Loghain, managed to persuade me to let him take the final blow and make that ultimate sacrifice. I still sometimes regret that, but you know me! Always giving people a chance at redemption and all that... Bah.”

“Do you ever... regret... that decision you made at the Landsmeet?”

“What, recruiting Loghain? I used to curse that day and my own stubborn insistence on listening to sound tactical advice,” she spat, and he winced. “I'm at peace with it now. After all, if I hadn't spared Loghain's life that day, I might never have known just how conditional your promises were and how untrustworthy you could be. I would have gone on expecting you to be there for me, and Maker knows what else might have happened to make you desert me at some crucial moment.”

Alistair was silent, looking off toward the horizon, his mouth drawn in a grim line. “That's not fair.”

“Nothing about any of this is fair. It's not fair that my family were murdered. It's not fair that your father wouldn't acknowledge you. It's not fair that Arl Eamon let his wife's petty jealousy cause you to suffer. It's not fair that you shirked your duty the way you did.”

“You had Loghain.”

“Andraste's flaming tits, Alistair, really _are_ a fool!” she snarled. She took a step toward him, her hands curled into fists. He took a step back. “I wasn't in love with Loghain! I could only barely tolerate his presence, and it was just that much worse that you weren't with me! He wasn't... You promised...” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and deliberately unfurled her fingers, flexing them slightly, intentionally releasing her anger. “You said you had dreams, hopes, well, so did I, and they all involved you. I thought that you and I were meant to be, that it was... fate...”

She took a deep breath and was surprised to realise she was trembling. So many years of pent up anger and despair flooding her mind and heart and soul were making her lose her self-control in a way she hadn't done for years.

“It doesn't matter now,” she said, repeating a phrase she'd told herself over and over for years. “It's done, and there's no going back. You left me, and apparently, you spent most of your time drinking and whoring. So that's how much you thought of me.”

“I was doing those things because I couldn't _stop_ thinking of you,” he said mournfully. “I could hardly stand to live with myself. I kept telling myself that you betrayed me, that you were heartless, that you never loved me, but deep down, I always knew what I'd done. The drinking was just to dull the pain. And there weren't that many women, but they were... never you.”

Alistair ran his fingers through his hair, furrowing his brow angrily as he demanded, “But what did _you_ do after I left?”

“Oh, other than weep uncontrollably for days and get so drunk Sten had to carry me to bed? Hmm, well, after I realised you really weren't coming back and had truly abandoned me and your duty to the Grey Wardens, to Ferelden, and to the world, I pulled myself together, tied up loose ends, and then went to rally the troops because _someone_ had take the Blight seriously.”

He looked away with an angry, pained expression, nostrils flaring. She almost felt sorry for him, but he asked for it. When would people learn not to ask her things they didn't want to know?

“I've heard rumours. Were you and Teagan lovers?”

“What did he say when you asked him?”

“He said it was no concern of mine who he did or didn't take to his bed.”

She smiled. “Yes, that sounds like him.”

Alistair looked at her and narrowed his eyes. “It's true then,” he said. “At Redcliffe castle. The night before the forced march.”

“It's really none of your business.”

“And in Denerim. You were keeping company with him at the palace. That's what I heard from Teagan's men.”

Rowan sighed. “You really don't want to know this.”

“I really do.”

She decided to tell him, hoping that if he got the answers he wanted, maybe needed, he'd be able to move on. And so would she.

“Teagan and I are friends,” she said simply. “For a time we were what you might call very intimate friends. When I came to Amaranthine to take up the role of Warden-Commander, we parted ways, though we remain friends, even now.”

“But he's my uncle,” Alistair protested.

“He is not. He's not related to you at all.”

“What about Nathaniel Howe?”

“Oh, Maker's dangling testicles,” she swore, shaking her head. “Why do you think you have a right to ask me these things? Surely you can find out plenty by way of gossip at the Keep. And by the way, you really do need to learn to knock before you enter a room. I maintain an open door policy, but it doesn't mean you can open any door as you please.”

His lip curled into a sneer at the reminder of exactly what he'd walked in on. “Isn't it unprofessional to be doing... _that_ in your office?”

“As I told you at the time, what I discuss with my lieutenant is nobody else's concern, and that's why the door was closed. But you know as well as I do that the Grey Wardens don't have rules about... what was it you called it? Caboodling? In fact, the Second Blight was ended by Grey Wardens who were lovers. She died protecting him so that he could then kill the archdemon. They couldn't have done it alone. I can lend you the book if you want to read up on it.”

“Who else have you been with?” Alistair demanded. He was angry, probably covering up for being hurt. It was a tactic Rowan knew all too well.

“What, ever? How is _that_ your business?”

“Just tell me,” he insisted.

“I suppose you want me to tell you I was with Zevran? Or Leliana? Or Oghren, perhaps. Sorry to disappoint you. There was only my first love, a knight who sacrificed his life to save me the night of the Highever Massacre.”

“You... never told me about that.”

“Why should I have? You were too wrapped up in your own misery to spend much time considering mine. You just put me in charge of saving the world and then complained if I did something you didn't like, and Void take me if I'd lost my entire family and everyone else I'd ever loved and was struggling to come to terms with that. Add to that the fact that you were absurdly jealous. Why on earth would I try to tell you about the loss of my first love?”

“I... thought I was...”

“You knew I wasn't a virgin.”

“Yes, but I thought...”

“That you were my one true love? No. You could have been my last love, but we both know how that worked out.”

She wasn't being fair to him and she knew it. In their time together during the Blight, he had made the effort to comfort her, at least when he remembered she was suffering. She hadn't let it show very much or very often.

And then it suddenly occurred to her that while it was probably true that he didn't really know her, she hadn't really let him. She'd hidden her pain and her grief and even her fear behind the mask of all-important duty. A wave of shame and sorrow and guilt poured over her, through her.

Alistair was quiet for a long time.

“I heard that Howe was in the dungeon here for trying to kill you, but you made him a Grey Warden and then your second-in-command and your lover,” Alistair said eventually. “How much of that is true?”

She sighed, somewhat tiredly. “This again. All right. He was in the dungeon for sneaking around the Keep. He never tried to kill me, has never raised a hand or a weapon to me with intent to harm me. He joined the Grey Wardens of his own free will. I promoted him after an assassination attempt on my life because he was the most qualified and because nobody else wanted the job. We did not become lovers until some time after the the darkspawn uprising was dealt with. Essentially it's just the story of two people who have a great deal in common, who fought together, and who eventually got over their differences and fell in love. I know, the story is far less interesting this way, but there it is.”

“How you can share a bed with the son of the man who murdered your family?”

“You say that as if people have any control over what their fathers do. Nathaniel lost everything, just as I did, purely because of his father's actions.”

Alistair sighed and ran his hands through his hair again, and started to pace. “Teagan told me before I came here that I didn't have a hope with you. I should have listened, but I couldn't help hoping. The thought of seeing you again, of being with you was... Rowan, I really missed you.”

He looked at her with those golden-brown eyes, eyebrows raised and drawn together. His lower lip was thrust out a little, like a child who was upset and trying not to cry. Rowan's heart seemed to contract. Damn him.

“I missed you, too,” she admitted, “no matter how much I might want to deny it. But that doesn't mean...”

Alistair suddenly closed the distance between them. Rowan should have stepped back. He pulled her into his arms and she should have resisted, but instead she leaned into him, inhaling his familiar scent, and a thousand pleasant and familiar recollections came flooding back. He tilted his head and pressed his mouth to hers and she should have pulled away, but she closed her eyes and returned the kiss. When the tip of his tongue touched her lip, she opened her mouth to him, tasting him. She brought her arms up around his torso, and let herself be washed away in the memories and the aching, bittersweet, melancholy blend of emotions and physical sensations.

When she broke the kiss, she looked at him and the expression of awkward hope on his face hurt her heart.

“That was... I should not have allowed that,” she said.

“No,” Nathaniel said, stepping out of the shadowed place where he'd apparently been standing for who knew how long. “You really shouldn't have.”

 


	89. Apologies and Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel demands an explanation and Rowan offers an apology.

Nathaniel had heard some of the conversation and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it. He knew perfectly well Rowan had lingering, unresolved feelings about Alistair, even if she would never come out and admit it, so Nathaniel wasn't too surprised that she'd responded to Alistair's advances, but Nathaniel was too angry at the moment to work it all out.

So angry, in fact, that he was struggling with the urge to resort to physical violence. A dagger in Alistair's kidney or the gut, or maybe throwing him off the battlements, any of that would do.

Alistair had practically leapt away from Rowan at the sound of Nathaniel's voice, promptly gone pale, and he was standing as if poised to fight or flee. Nathaniel decided to send him fleeing.

“Alistair, go find something useful to do,” Nathaniel growled. “I will want to speak with you privately at some point, but for now, leave.”

Alistair looked at Nathaniel and then at Rowan and then back at Nathaniel, as if he was afraid to leave her alone with him. That infuriated Nathaniel even more. His lip curled into a snarl and Nathaniel took a step forward, eyes narrowed.

“Alistair, go,” Rowan said, and the younger man looked at her and nodded before making himself scarce.

Nathaniel turned to the woman he loved. He was still angry, but more with Alistair than with Rowan. She had been startled when he caught her in the arms of her former lover, but she held herself like a woman who had nothing to hide, and that soothed him just a bit.

“I think we need to have a private discussion,” Nathaniel said, his voice as controlled as he could make it. “Kindly accompany me to the master suite.”

He gestured for her to go ahead of him. They walked in silence until they reached their shared rooms. Nathaniel shut the door behind them. Rowan stood and waited for him in the middle of the sitting room.

“What was that about with Alistair?” Nathaniel asked, keeping his voice as modulated as he could.

“How did you know where to find me?”

“I know the likely places to look for you. I was not expecting to find you in the arms of another man.”

“Another... Oh, Nate. It's not like that at all.”

“Tell me how it is, then,” he commanded. Her complete lack of apparent guilt was slightly infuriating.

“How long were you lurking there, eavesdropping? Not long, I take it, or you would have heard the conversation. Alistair seems to fancy himself still in love with me, which Teagan already knew and you and I both suspected.”

“Why did you kiss him?”

“He kissed me,” she pointed out. “I just kissed him back.”

“Why?” Nathaniel demanded, raising his voice more than he'd intended.

“I was curious,” she said with a shrug. “I wouldn't have kissed him, had no desire, but when he kissed me, I suddenly wanted to stir the ashes, see if there were any embers left.”

“And what did you learn?”

“There is... familiarity. And a kind of sadness, I guess, for what once was and what might have been. And, I will admit, there is a kind of lingering fondness that will probably never go away. I did love him once, but now... whatever kind of passion there was between Alistair and myself is long gone, at least on my part.”

Nathaniel exhaled and relaxed slightly. Her explanation made perfect, practical sense. So very Rowan.

“I owe you an apology,” Rowan said.

“There's no need. It's fine.”

“Yes, there is a need. _No_ , it's not fine,” she insisted, putting her hand on his arm. “I have done you a great disservice.”

“Rowan, it was just a kiss. So long as –”

“No, not that,” she said, cutting him off. “That was nothing. No, I mean that you were right about me holding back from you. But it really wasn't about Alistair or anyone else, it was just me and my stubbornness and my need to control everything and my... I don't even know. But I'm sorry.”

Nathaniel blinked. He hadn't been expecting that. She moved her hand from his arm and grabbed his hand. He squeezed her fingers gently.

“You've been there for me all this time, supporting me, looking after me, watching my back. You were furious with me at first, and yet, you were still there for me, with me, even when you hated me. You are my best friend, my closest confidante. You... know me. And you are everything to me. You kept asking me to marry you and I kept turning you down because I was afraid. I'm so sorry. I do love you, Nate, with all my heart, and I trust you, and I think... I'm ready to... not hold back.”

He raised both eyebrows. Still holding his hand, Rowan got down on one knee and looked up at him.

“Nathaniel Howe, will you do me the honour of becoming my husband once and for all?”

“Oh, Maker, Rowan, don't tease me. Are you serious?”

“I am. I'm so sorry it took me this long to –”

He dragged her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her mouth. Rowan wrapped her arms around him, returning his kiss passionately.

“How was that?” he asked when he ended kiss. Her eyes were dark with arousal, her breath rough and fast. “Any sparks?”

“Oh, that was a raging bonfire.”

“Stay right here. Don't move.” Nathaniel kissed her quickly on the mouth again and then let go of her so he could go into the dressing room, where he rummaged around until he found the rings he'd carefully kept for so long, waiting for the day she would finally let go of her reservations.

“Do you want this now, as a betrothal ring, or do you want it on our wedding day?” he asked as he walked back to her, carefully unwrapping the rings from their protective cloth.

Rowan's eyes opened wide and she looked from the ring to his face and back to the rings.

“Are those diamonds?”

“Yes. That one is your ring. The other one, the plain one, is mine. I'm told they're a matched pair, that there's some kind of magical resonance between them so they'll form a connection between the wearers.”

“Where did... When did you...”

He grinned at her. “The first trip we took to Denerim.”

“I... don't know what to say.”

“Say whether you want to wear this ring now or if you want to wait until Summerday, when we get married.”

“Oh, we're getting married on Summerday, are we? You've decided, I take it?”

He grinned at her. “It is traditional to marry on Summerday. If you have another date in mind, speak up.”

“No, Summerday is fine. Tradition, as you say. And I'll wait for the ring, I think. I like the symbolism for our wedding day, especially since we both have rings.”

“As you like,” he said. “Do you want to try it on, though? I've been dying to get this ring on your finger.”

She giggled. “Yes, all right.” She pulled off the ring she had on her ring finger and moved it to her other hand. Then she took the beautifully crafted silverite and diamond jewel carefully from the cloth and slipped it on and held up her hand. “Perfect fit. How did you manage that?”

“I'm a sneaky rogue,” he answered with a laugh and a wink, “and I planned ahead. And I'm happy for you to wait until our wedding day to have this, but in the meantime, would you please just wear the greenstone promise ring Rory gave you on your right hand? I don't mind you wearing it, but I'm claiming your left ring finger from now on.”

He slipped his own ring on and felt a jolt of... something. Maker's breath, what was that? He felt... Rowan. She was just as astonished as she was. He could see it on her face, but he could also feel it. She tipped his head and kissed him and he could feel her pleasure as well as his own. Maker, it was like the mirrors, reflecting back, creating a kind of loop. This was quite something.

“Do you feel that?” she asked, though he knew she knew the answer.

“Yes. Just like the mirrors.”

“Yes. Nathaniel, this is...”

“Don't be afraid.”

“How did... Oh.”

“You have to let me in now. You can't keep me out.”

“Oh... that's... frightening but also...”

“Exhilarating.”

“Stop that. It's creepy.”

He laughed. “Yeah, it is a little. I think it will take some getting used to.”

“Uhm... do you want to try...”

“Oh, minx, always with the sex.”

“You had the same idea.”

“Did I? Or did we both have it? Or did one of us have it and it just moved to the other?”

“Does it matter?”

“Why don't we save it for our wedding night?”

“Ohhh, good idea.”

“I know.”

“You know, we're going to be even more annoying as a couple, reading each others thoughts and all.” He grinned when he felt her amusement.

“I don't think it's thoughts, exactly. I think it's more emotions. Think of a number between one and a hundred.”

“Got it.”

“Seven?”

“Not even close. You try. All right. Hmmm. Thirty-six.”

“Way off. I think we just tend to think alike, and the emotions enhance that. We're not really reading each other's minds or thoughts, we're just thinking of the same thing at the same time because it's how we are. But the emotions... this could bring us extraordinarily close. And it could be very, very fun.”

“Wedding night, remember? Your idea.”

“Maybe we should just go downstairs and get married in the chapel right now.”

“We could do that.”

He raised an eyebrow as a wave of her emotion rolled over him. “I can feel that, you know. You're a romantic deep down, no matter how much you protest. You want all the flowers and the guests and the dancing, don't you?”

“I... uh... yes, I suppose so. And there are diplomatic and political possibilities with high ranking weddings.”

He chuckled. “Pragmatic and romantic. That's my Rowan. I love these rings. You can't lie to me about your feelings.”

“Nate, half the time I don't know what my feelings even are. Not good at this, remember?”

“I can help you sort it out. I definitely know what my feelings are.”

“Mmm. I love you, too.”

“I know. I've always known. You loved me from the time you were twelve, admit it.”

She laughed at that, and he grinned. “You know I didn't. I had a crush. Briefly. That's all. And you weren't interested then, nor should you have been.”

“All right, I believe you. But you love me now. Mmm, you definitely do. Maker, that feels amazing.” He leaned in and kissed her, sucking on her lower lip in a way he knew drove her wild. “So does that.”

“It's very tempting, but... this is unusually sentimental for me, but I like the idea of our wedding night being really special. At this point, there's not much we can do sexually that we haven't already tried.”

“Yes, Brother Capria's book is very useful for that, isn't it?”

He felt a rush of arousal, unsure if it was hers or his or both, and she groaned and pulled the ring off of her finger. He was still aroused, but the echo effect was gone.

“Here, put the rings away,” she said. “Something to look forward to. And then adjust to, because that's just very strange. I have enough trouble with my own emotions, but feeling yours, too... I wonder if the effect changes with distance? Or maybe with the intensity of the emotion?”

“I have no idea,” he answered with a grin. “I guess we'll find out.”

“I suppose we should go and tell Varel and Delilah, not necessarily in that order. I want to send some specific invitations and I'll need to hand write a few letters. Maker, this is going to be a production.”

“Anora will probably offer assistance if you want it. And Fergus. But I think Delilah will be able to take control of the situation, and she'll enjoy doing it.”

“Speaking of Fergus, I need to talk to him about my dowry. It's considerable. I can't use most of it, because it comes with titles and the like and I'm a Grey Warden, but I'm still entitled to it under Ferelden law when I marry. I'd like for Tristan to have it. I'd also recommend you go through with the official recognition of him as your son before the wedding. We'll settle a Howe with a respectable fortune and a couple or three bannorns. It's nothing as impressive as the Arling of Amaranthine, but it's a decent start. Maker willing, your son will have sons of his own and the line will continue in honour and comfort. Does this please you?”

“You know it does,” he answered. He loved how much she cared for his son. He loved everything about her. Even her irritating qualities were endearing. “Maker, Rowan, all of this makes me happy. Put your ring back on if you want to know just how much. No? Then you'll have to take my word for it. All right then, let me put these rings away and meet me in bed. The more clothes you can take off by the time I get there, the better.”

“What about telling people and writing letters and so on?” she protested, but she was already getting undressed as she walked to the big bed.

“That will wait. Get naked, and get to bed,” he said in the commanding voice he knew she loved. “Oh, and if I ever again catch you voluntarily kissing Alistair or any other man, I will not be as understanding, nor as patient. It took all my self-control to keep from assaulting him. I will be telling Alistair that very soon, preferably with the smell of your arousal all over my face.”

“Ohh, you're a very bad man.”

“And you love me.”

“Can't keep anything from you, can I?”

“Not any more.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy? I am. :)


	90. My Eyes Are Down Here (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel finds a way to ramp up the interpersonal intimacy and finally get what he wants. 
> 
> NSFW, but not entirely gratuitous, in that, there's actual character development and relationship development and so forth. However, if you want to skip over the smutty stuff, search for "Afterward" and read the bit after that.

Rowan was just climbing onto the bed when Nathaniel, shedding clothes as he went, approached. The look on his face told her he had something specific in mind, and she wondered what it could be. He smiled at her as he tossed his underpants aside and stood there in all his naked masculine beauty. She never got tired of looking at him. Clothed, naked, half-dressed, it didn't matter. She often though he must be the best looking, sexiest, most desirable man in the whole of Thedas and the Fade combined. If she ever encountered a desire demon again, it would take the form of Nathaniel, she was sure of it.

“I love it when you look at me like that,” he commented with a half smile and in a husky voice. “Your eyes go all dark and your lips part and you look so incredibly beautiful.” He climbed onto the bed and lay down on his side, looking at her. He kissed her lips once, then again. She caught his lower lip between hers and drew him closer and opened her mouth to his, inviting his tongue to play. They lay for some time, kissing deeply, playfully, not engaging any other part of their bodies, just their mouths. When Nathaniel pulled back, he raised his hand and caressed her face, giving her such a sexy look she involuntarily moaned.

“Am I in command here?” he asked.

A thrill of pleasure ran through her at the tone of his voice. “If you want to be.”

“Good. I do. Here's what I want from you. Look at me and maintain eye contact. Don't close your eyes, don't look away. Blink when you must, but as much as possible, I want you to just look me in the eye.”

“Why?”

“You know how powerful eye contact can be. I've seen you make or withhold eye contact to manage those under your command and also the general public. Stare at them until they back down, look at them to reassure them, ignore them completely to shut them out, and more. And I'm sure you know that eye contact can be intimate. Very intimate, especially if it's maintained. I know that deep intimacy frightens you, and don't try to deny it. I felt it when we had the rings on. But I think you want it.”

“I think you may be right.”

He was looking at her, watching her face, her eyes. She saw so much there in his hooded grey eyes: passion, love, desire, strength, devotion, his already intimate knowledge of her. She felt incredibly vulnerable in the face of all that and automatically shifted her gaze, looking instead at his lips, hoping he would kiss her again.

“Sweetheart. Eye contact. Don't break it.”

She raised her eyes again, and he smiled gently and rubbed his thumb around the edges of her lips and then caressed her face.

“Just let me in,” he said softly.

He gently pushed her onto her back and propped up his head on his hand, elbow bent, as he leisurely ran his free hand down her body. He still didn't break eye contact and she was nearly squirming from it. He got his hand on a breast and very gently squeezed, cupping her flesh tenderly, making her breathing quicken. He rubbed his thumb across her nipple and she shuddered. He smiled and did it again and then again, taking up a slow, lazy, sensual rhythm, and she shuddered with pleasure and arousal. He moved his hand to the other breast and worked that one, as well, and it wasn't long before she was barely able to keep her eyes open, but somehow she did.

“I want you to look me in the eye while I make you come,” he whispered as he stroked his hand down her belly. He cupped her sex. She gasped as he slipped a finger between her slick folds. He made an appreciative sound and murmured something about being beautiful.

And then he was rubbing her just the right way, and she was panting as her legs fell apart, almost involuntarily, wanting more, needing it. Maker, his touch was perfect. He was clever with his fingers, but he knew her so well, he knew just how to please her and bring her to climax.

He was taking his time, building it, stroking with his fingertip, watching her as her arousal and pleasure grew. It radiated throughout her body and she had to fight to keep from closing her eyes, and when the mounting tension finally reached its peak, she was looking into his eyes and he into hers and it was so powerfully intimate it was like he was caressing her very soul.

As she started to come down, she blinked hard and held her eyes closed for a moment. She had to. It was too much, too intense. It was like nothing she could recall experiencing before.

“How was that?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper. He still had his hand resting between her thighs, but he had withdrawn his finger for the time being, giving her a moment to collect herself.

“It was... very... intense.”

“Yes. That's the point. Are you ready for more?”

“Yes.”

“Come over here, then,” he said as he slid out of the bed. “Sit on the edge of the bed for me.”  
She raised an eyebrow as she sat up and wriggled to the edge. He got down on his knees between her legs before he hauled them over his shoulders. He looked up at her through his long lashes, the tip of his aquiline nose just brushing her dark, tight curls.

“Eye contact,” he reminded. She looked into his eyes and a wave of absolute lust consumed her. He planted a kiss on her flesh and rubbed his face against her, inhaling her scent, smiling devilishly as he looked up at her. He stuck out his tongue and dragged it between her folds, watching her all the time. She moaned and he grinned up at her and then licked her again. And then again. Yes, _oh, yes_. He pressed his tongue in and rubbed it back and forth against her pearl while she looked into his eyes and she felt like she might actually die from the intensity and from the feeling of incredible vulnerability that was both overpowering and deeply pleasurable.

She wanted to roll her head back, close her eyes, but she didn't. She was panting, making little, involuntary pleasure noises and he was watching her face as he thrilled her with his mouth. Her climax took her by surprise, and she cried out as it overtook her while she stared hard into Nathaniel's eyes. It was truly overwhelming. He seemed to understand that, and he backed off and stood up, very deliberately wiping his face with his hand as if he was rubbing her juices around and grinning at her.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I... am, yes,” she answered, still panting.

He climbed back onto the bed and lay on his back, grinning at her, his erection standing up hard and proud. She knew what he wanted. She turned around easily and straddled his hips, pausing for a moment to get positioned. Slowly, she lowered herself onto his cock. She looked into his eyes as his cock filled her up, and she was pleased to see how his eyes rolled up into his head slightly as she took him in. He put a hand on her hip, and the other between her thighs, using those skilled fingers on her as she started to grind against him, using her strong legs to slide up and down his cock, his own hips bucking in rhythm with her movements.

“Hey, my eyes are down here.”

She had closed her eyes without realising, riding the pleasure, riding him. She opened her eyes and looked into his, and the combination of the intense physical pleasure and deep sexual intimacy was both powerful and unnerving, but it was also wonderfully disarming. Her defences, whatever was left of them, were falling by the wayside and she was powerless to take them up again against him. She felt exposed and reckless and emotional.

“Let me in,” he panted, almost pleading. “Come for me, and let me in.”

“Yes,” she panted. “Yes...”

Lost in his eyes, the passion overtook her completely. She watched his eyes as he watched her come, groaning, his own face contorted in pleasure as she rode him. The last of her reserve slipped away, the last of her ability to maintain some part of herself as apart from him, some illusionary shred of control, it was all swept away, and she was defenceless, unguarded. Her eyes filled with tears and he frowned.

“Are you... sweetheart, are you all right? Do you want to stop? Are you in pain?”

“No, I... don't want to stop... it's just...”

“Tell me what's wrong.” He put both hands on her hips and stilled her movements.

“It's just... It's like... stepping into a bright, sunny day when you've been inside a dark room.”

He nodded slowly. “I think I understand. Is it too much? We can –”

“No. I... like it, it's just... so intense. Emotionally, I mean.” She had never felt so vulnerable in her life, not in any circumstance, public or private. He had her completely at his command, without even really trying. It was intoxicating in so many ways.

He thrust his hips a little. “You want more?”

“Yes.”

Gazes locked, they started to move together, pleasuring one another, making love like only two people who were deeply in love ever could, their hearts as entwined as their bodies were.

“When you come,” he said, “I'll meet you there.”

She nodded and let herself be overtaken by the pleasure of his finger on her pearl, of his cock filling her up and hitting all the right places inside. She moaned the word, _yes_ , staring into his eyes in complete and absolute surrender. There was nothing she could hold back, not from him, not any more. She was completely unguarded, raw and naked and undefended as she climaxed, looking into his eyes as tears ran down her face. As he'd said, he joined her in her bliss, calling her name, just as she started to come down. The look on his face as he came was one of pleasure, of love, and of joy.

Afterward, lying on the bed in the afternoon light, they caught their breath and curled up in each others' arms. He kissed the tears away, asked her again if she was all right, which she assured him she was, and he held her close.

“That,” he said eventually, “Was absolutely amazing.”

“I know.”

“Why are you crying?”

“I've never let someone get that close. It's like you were touching my heart. Just... a lot of emotions. Good, but... very emotional.”

“Thank you for letting me in.”

She was quiet for some time. “I don't know that I let you,” she said eventually. “I think you broke in.”

“Ah. Right. That must be it. Rowan Cousland would never surrender, of course. I must have sneaked up on her.”

She chuckled. “You are a sneaky rogue. And you did kind of do that, you know. You broke into Vigil's Keep, you sneaked into my affections, and you've spent years slowly dismantling my defences until there was nothing to stop you from stealing my heart and soul.”

He tightened his grip on her in a hug. “I'd like to think I didn't steal them, but that they were given freely. But regardless of any of that, I am more than aware than your heart and your soul are infinitely precious. I am honoured to be able to touch them, as it seems I have.”

“Silver tongue.”

“You love my tongue.”

“Mmm, I do. And I love you. And I love ignoring paperwork and spending the afternoon in bed. But I do have to meet Tristan on the field later this afternoon for dagger practice, so I can't stay all day. For now, though, I would love to just be here with you, unless you've got something else you need to be doing.”

“Oh, you know how it is. I always have things I could be doing. But all I intend to do is go to the office and call on Alistair to meet with me. I need to have a talk with him. And I will tell you now, I do not intend to wash my face first. I hope he'll be able to smell you on me. Yes, I am that petty where he is concerned.”

Rowan giggled. “Promise me you won't punch him. And don't put an arrow in his throat or a dagger in his kidney or anything of that sort. I know the temptation might be very high, and maybe he deserves a smack in the chops, but just don't, please. You can be as smug and as condescending as you like, because you're so good at those things, but leave it at that. I'll have to talk to him at some point, too. Maybe tomorrow. If he needs a punch, I'll punch him then. Tonight, however, is our family dinner. I'll invite Varel to dine with us, and we can share our betrothal. Everyone else at the Keep can be told in a... I guess we'll have a big meeting in the hall and announce it.”

Nathaniel kissed her on the forehead. “Doesn't take you long to go back to being Commander Cousland, does it? A little while ago, you were completely open and raw and vulnerable to me, and now you're going on about arranging meetings.”

“Sorry. Did you want to talk about something else?”

“Later, we can both get up and get dressed and be responsible commanders. For now, stay here with me and we'll be lovers, all right? You finally let me in. I felt it. I saw it. I want to savour it. Stay here with me and let me love you.”

She nodded and curled up closer to his chest and closed her eyes. It wasn't long before she found herself wondering where she ended and he began. It was strange, but she liked it. She wondered if it was the rings, if that connection had started this, or if it was just the natural culmination of many years of intimacy or if it was the wildly intensifying effect of deep eye contact or none of those things or all of them. Then she decided she didn't really care and she stopped thinking about it and just rested in the satisfying comfort of his arms.

“I love you,” she murmured. “I guess I don't have to tell you that.”

“Yes, you do. Every day, at least once, but as often as you please beyond that. I will never get tired of hearing you admit it.”

“You're very demanding.”

“You love it.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eye contact during sex is an interesting subject. Google is your friend if you want to know more. Or, hey, just try it yourself and find out. ;) 
> 
> When I was plotting this scene, I kind of had this song in mind: [Break In by Halestorm](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qfFOzQVKuMs). A very sentimental and beautiful love song by one of my favourite contemporary rock bands (and they have a female lead!). 
> 
> Unrelated to above, but life is happening around here, which is why this is not really "on schedule". Next week should be back (the chapter's written and everything, hehe).


	91. Fool Me Once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel and Alistair have a little talk, man to man.

“Alistair,” Nathaniel acknowledged from his desk. “Thank you for coming to see me. Shut the door, please, and take a seat.”

Alistair was hard to read. It wasn't that he had a lot of control over his expression or body language. Rather the opposite. He was hard to read because all manner of things were happening at once and he seemed to be communicating them all. It was quite the spectacle.

“The first thing I'm going to tell you,” Nathaniel said, “is that this is personal, not professional, though my professional assessment may be affected depending on what you say and do.”

“Look, about today with --” Alistair started to blurt.

Nathaniel immediately scowled and made a noise in his throat that undoubtedly sounded like a growl. Alistair cringed and shut up. Good.

“ _No_ ,” Nathaniel said firmly, pointing at Alistair for emphasis. “You keep quiet until I give you permission to talk. I work hard to maintain discipline and control my considerably bad temper, but I am known to lose it now and then. Do not push me. Neither one of us wants to find out what will happen if you do.”

Alistair nodded mutely and went a little pale. Again, good.

“Now,” Nathaniel began, leaning back in his chair rather than sitting on the edge lunging over the desk, “I know that you made the move to kiss Rowan. Not only did she point this out to me when I talked to her, I saw it with my own eyes. You swooped right in and got your hands and arms and lips on her, and I saw that she was startled at first. In my opinion, she should have knocked you on your arse and then stood on your throat for being so insolent and presumptuous, but she had her reasons for kissing you back. She intends to talk to you privately and you're free to discuss it with her, but _I_ am telling you right now, man to man, that you need to let go of any and all romantic hopes you might still be harbouring where Rowan Cousland is concerned.”

They sat in tense silence for a few moments.

“I... Uh, am I allowed to talk now?” Alistair ventured.

Nathaniel nodded once. He relaxed his expression so he wasn't scowling, but he was still maintaining the frown for which he was known.

“I... kind of knew, when she kissed me, I could tell she... It's not like it was before. She used to be... but look who I'm talking to. You know how she is. She wasn't like that with me. I mean, a long time ago she was, but she isn't now. Maker, this is... You're a very intimidating man, you know that? Yeah, you do. Anyway, I only tried my luck with her because we were alone and it was kind of emotional and she did say that she missed me. And I've heard that you keep proposing to her and she always turned you down and I thought maybe... But there's... I'm sorry.”

“Oh, don't be sorry,” Nathaniel said, smirking just a bit and laying on the arrogant smugness for effect. “Whatever happened or didn't happen between you seems to have affected her deeply, and led to a most enjoyable and happy outcome.”

“I can probably guess.”

Nathaniel smirked. “You know, I owe you my gratitude for a lot of things. I've thought this for years, actually. If you hadn't left Rowan after publicly humiliating her in front of the entire assembled bannorn, I wouldn't have had any chance with her. That scene you created at the Landsmeet was a topic of conversation for quite some time afterward, by the way. Have you heard the tavern songs?”

“I've heard several,” Alistair answered sourly. “Which one did you mean? One of the ones about how the great and glorious Hero of Ferelden saved everyone practically single-handed? The one about the Hero of Ferelden and the dashing lover who came for revenge but ended up devoted to her and the Grey Wardens? Or did you mean the one about me and how I ran out on her because I was a coward? There are some others, too...”

“I meant the one about you,” Nathaniel answered evenly. “You and I both know you didn't really desert because you're a coward, though. You deserted because you were an immature fool.”

“I... Yes,” Alistair admitted, sighing and lowering his gaze. “I was. And if I was really a coward, I would never have tried to kiss her earlier.”

Nathaniel couldn't stop himself from chuckling, though he tried. It ended up as a snort. Alistair gave him a look of startled surprise.

“Rowan is deeply loyal,” Nathaniel said. “If you'd still been in the picture, well, to be perfectly honest, I probably still would have fallen in love with her, but I would never have acted on it because she wouldn't have been receptive. I would have had to spend the rest of my days longing for a woman who was in love with someone else. Happily for me, she was unattached when she came to Vigil's Keep as Warden-Commander.”

“What about Bann Teagan?”

“What about him?”

“There's a tavern song about the two of them, too, a pretty bawdy one. You know that they were –”

“Friends? Yes, and they still are. Did you know he was the one who collected her after the archdemon was killed? There was some sort of huge blast when Loghain killed the archdemon. Teagan saw it from the ground and as the remaining darkspawn horde started to disperse, he went to find her, see if she was all right. She was dazed and in a bit of a stupor, as were her companions. Teagan got them all down from the tower and got her into a warm bed where she could sleep it off, and he came back the next day to make sure she ate. He took care of her as much as she would allow him to do. He genuinely cares about her.”

“How do you know all this?”

“She told me some of it. And I've talked to Teagan, of course.”

“So you're not bothered that they were lovers?”

“Why should I be? She's with me now.”

“But she's still... very friendly with Teagan. I saw them together. She was walking with her hand in his arm, and he was flirting with her and she was laughing about it. They're... very _friendly_.”

“Yes, Alistair, because they're friends. And to be perfectly honest, it did bother me at first, but I got over myself. The two of them had parted ways as lovers before I even became a Grey Warden, so it's really nothing to do with me.”

“I suppose not.”

“Just as nothing Rowan did after you left her is any of your concern.”

“Yeah, I know,” Alistair admitted. “But it still made me really angry and hurt when I heard from Teagan's men at Rainsefere that she'd been with him, you know, like _that_.”

“You were long gone, Alistair. You were not coming back. Was she supposed to remain alone and celibate for the rest of her life?”

Alistair shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You're right. It's ridiculous. I just... never ...”

“You never got over her. Small surprise. A woman like that leaves her mark in the world, and on the people whose lives she's touched. I've seen it time and time again.”

“She does leave a mark,” Alistair agreed sadly. “I hope you know what a lucky man you are.”

“I assure you, it was more than luck. There was a good deal of patience, determination, and outright stubbornness involved, as well, and some degree of finesse. I certainly do count myself as extremely fortunate, however. Blessed, even.”

Nathaniel could have said so much more. He could have pointed out that no matter what differences he and Rowan might have, it was always worth it to work through them. He could have said that he would never forsake her, not out of anger, not from disagreements, apparently not even for kissing other men. He could have said a lot of things that would make Alistair feel even more the fool that he was, but Nathaniel didn't feel any need to take it further. He'd made his point.

“I wish I hadn't lashed out the way I did at the Landsmeet,” Alistair blurted suddenly, running his fingers through his short, sandy hair. “I could have waited, I should have... If I'd kept my mouth shut, I could have at least kept from being banished. All my talk about being king is what did it. If I'd just kept quiet and waited and talked to her after...”

“No, don't do that,” Nathaniel said firmly. “Don't go down a hundred 'what if' paths. You'll drive yourself crazy with the endless 'if only' thoughts. I speak from experience.”

“I do get it, you know,” Alistair said. “I mean, I know I was a fool. I know now that I was wrong about a lot of things. Too many things.”

Nathaniel snorted. “I know that feeling all too well. When I found out that my father really did commit atrocities, I had a lot to think about, to put it mildly. Then I realised I had to apologise to Rowan for all the things I'd gotten wrong. Happily for me, she was willing to let it all be water under the bridge.”

“And then you and she were...”

“Friends, Alistair. She and I were friends. And she was and is friends with Teagan. I presume she was friends with you. She was apparently best friends with her first love, long before they started to think of each other in a romantic way.”

“I only just learned about him today,” Alistair said with a frown. “She never told me.”

“Well, I'm not that surprised. She keeps him close to her heart. She still sometimes wears the promise ring he gave her. You've probably seen it. Silverite, with a polished greenstone?”

“Yeah, I have seen it. I... never thought to ask.”

“It was one of the few personal items she managed to take with her when she was forced to flee the massacre on her home.”

“That was your father's doing.”

“I'm well aware. Do you have a point with that?”

“I... no. I suppose I don't.”

“So you're just thrashing around throwing randomly baited hooks to see if you catch anything?”

“That sounds like me.”

Nathaniel chuckled. He wasn't sure how this had turned into some kind of heart to heart. He'd meant to tell Alistair to stay away from Rowan, intimidate him sufficiently, and maybe needle him a little about a few things before smugly dismissing him. Now it felt almost like the beginning of some kind of strange... comradeship. Alistair really did have a kind of oddly compelling charisma. The man's awkward charm and humour were disarming.

“Well,” Nathaniel said, “I've decided that I'm not going to hold a grudge against you. In fact, I'll thank you for what you did today, because Rowan finally got over the lingering anger or fear or whatever it was that she was harbouring. But I also want you to know and to understand that I am a territorial man, and she is my territory. Do not cross the boundary again, or I will deal with you with severe prejudice.”

“Yeah, I get it. I'd be jealous, too.”

“Oh, I know you would, but I'm not jealous of you. I'm not even angry with you, at least for the moment. I'm just letting you know how things are and what will happen if you get out of line again. That said, I would raise no objection to you and Rowan being friendly, if you can manage it. You were friends once, yes? I think some kind of reconciliation would be good for both of you.”

“Do you think she'd go for that?”

“Probably. You know she's always giving people second chances. It's in her nature. I definitely suggest that you stop staring at her with those sad puppy eyes, though. It makes her uncomfortable, and it irritates me. And you're so obvious about it! I suspect that's at least a small part of why you're so unpopular with the other Grey Wardens and many of the soldiers. Well, that and the whole shirking your duty during a Blight thing, but that's going to take some time for you to overcome. I hear that Melina has been trying to help you where she can. I advise you to let her. She's well-respected and well-liked amongst the Wardens and the garrison, plus she's got quite a knack for healing, and not just physical wounds. In the meantime, you might want to start turning up at the weekly Wicked Grace games. I'm not going to tell anyone that they should be nice to you, but I can make it clear that we're not going to tolerate any further open hostility. They may or may not ever like you, I can't say anything on that count, but if they understand that you do have a place here, they'll at least be less hostile. It would be a start, anyway.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

Nathaniel shrugged. “I owe you that much. You may not have intended to deliver the love of my life to me, but that's exactly what you've done. I have it in my power to make your life here at least a little more comfortable. Or, if you prefer, very, very uncomfortable. Ultimately, it's up to you, of course.”

Alistair was quiet for a bit, contemplating the fingers he had clasped in his lap.

“Thank you,” he said finally, and looked up at Nathaniel with an expression that was both contrite and determined. “I appreciate what you're offering and I understand why. I intend to spend the rest of my life making up for what I did and what I failed to do. And if I don't, well, you should take whatever steps you need to take. It's time I started listening to the advice of people who know more than I do and who can help or hurt me depending on how I act. I think you pretty much qualify in that regard.”

Nathaniel had always wondered what, exactly, Rowan saw in Alistair. Nathaniel was definitely starting to understand the attraction. And the two of them together... Teagan had once said they would have made an impressive team, and by the Maker, Teagan was spot on. They would have charmed all of Thedas and Rowan would have run Ferelden as impressively as she did Amaranthine and the Grey Wardens. For Ferelden, that might have been a very good thing. For Nathaniel Howe, it would have been a tragedy.

The thought was both sobering and chilling.

“It's fine,” Nathaniel said gruffly. “Just do your job, do it well, and keep your lips off the commander.”

“What, and and risk having her crush my throat or you stick a dagger up my backside? Oh, no, no, no, no. Look, I know people think I'm stupid, but I promise I'm not _that_ stupid, and I do learn from my mistakes. Eventually. Sometimes right away, even. Also, turns out it's not that much fun kissing a woman who is in love with someone else. But, uh, I hope this doesn't sound like I'm trying to wedge my nose between your lower cheeks, but I'm glad it's you she loves. I still... care about her, about what happens to her.” The younger man grew serious. “Clearly, so do you, and you're prepared to back it up and stick it out.”

“That's surprisingly insightful,” Nathaniel said. “Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do. I'll be sending you on patrol with the arling soldiers in a few days, so do what you need to do as far as preparation. I'll make sure the patrol leader is not a complete arsehole. That's the best I can promise for the time being.”

“Fair enough,” Alistair said, getting to his feet. “Thanks for not killing me.”

“Thanks for not pissing me off. Leave the door open when you go.”

Alistair grinned boyishly and gave a somewhat sloppy salute and did as he was told. Nathaniel watched him go, wondering what the Void had just happened between them. Whatever it was, it seemed to be a good sign. He hoped so, anyway.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Alistair is a charmer. He has been immature and he can sometimes be irritating and foolish, but he's still a basically good guy who has a great deal of charisma. People like him. I like him. ;-) (And I'm pretty sure he's going to get a story of his own, from his POV, starting around the time when he comes to Vigil's Keep. He's nudging me inside my head, making polite suggestions...)


	92. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan and Alistair have a heart-to-heart.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Ah. Alistair,” Rowan said, looking up from the letter she'd been reading at her desk.

Nathaniel glanced up from his own desk as Alistair stepped into the office and nodded once, a gesture Alistair returned.

“I'm going to go check on a few things,” Nathaniel announced as he stood up. “I'll be back in a little while.”

“Shut the door when you go,” Rowan said.

“Of course, Commander,” he answered. “And I will knock when I return if the door is still shut, as is standard procedure at Vigil's Keep.”

Rowan rolled her eyes and made a shooing motion with her hand. Nathaniel was smirking as he left the office. She was also fairly sure he was swaggering just a little more than usual.

“Take a seat,” Rowan said to Alistair, gesturing toward the chairs in front of her desk. Ser Barkley was lying on the blanket bed she'd made for him near her desk. When the dog wasn't patrolling the Keep, keeping Varel company, playing with Tristan, or lying by a fire somewhere, he liked to sleep nearby while she attended to business at her desk.

“About yesterday,” she began, and Alistair immediately turned bright red.

“Your lieutenant has already put the fear of the Maker into me, don't worry,” Alistair blurted. “I swear I won't try to kiss you again. And I'll try not to look at you with... what was he said? Sad puppy eyes, I think it was. I'm sorry. I apologise for all of that. I... can be foolish.”

“Yes, I am aware,” Rowan answered lightly. “And I thank you for the apology, but I actually wanted to apologise to you.”

“You what?”

“I'm hardly a defenceless maiden. I could have stopped you, but I didn't, and not only that, I kissed you back. I did that because I had an opportunity to satisfy my curiosity and I took it, without thinking it through.”

“What kind of curiosity?”

“When I first saw you again, it was like being hit in the gut with a dwarven hammer, and I didn't know what to make of it or what it meant. I think now that it was mostly the weight of a lot of things that were left unresolved. We never even got a proper goodbye, after all. One minute you were yelling at me and making threats and demands, and the next you were gone, banished. There was no resolution. And for me it was... traumatic. Not as traumatic as some things I've experienced, but still, you broke my heart, Alistair.”

“Mine broke, too,” Alistair said sadly, looking at the hands he had folded in his lap.

Rowan took a breath and was surprised when it shuddered. She closed her eyes, lest they start to fill with tears or some other stupid emotional thing.

“You're not deflecting with some lame joke,” she pointed out when she opened her eyes.

“Strangely, I can't find anything funny about having a broken heart.”

“That's a pity. You always did make me laugh, even when I was sad and lost and miserable.”

“Yeah, but you're not those things now, so I don't need to.”

“I am sad, though. Lost love is not a happy topic, and until Nathaniel, every love I had was that. And I lost several friends I loved, just for good measure. I was starting to think Fate had it in for me.”

“Oh. That is sad. All right. Should I do something comical? Dance around like a jester, maybe?”

“What, like Teagan when he was controlled by that demon?”

Alistair snickered. “I shouldn't laugh,” he said, trying to be serious and failing utterly. “It's wrong. I mean, there was a demon involved, and Arl Eamon nearly died, but, yeah, that was funny. Horrifying, but funny.”

“You can dance if you want to. Perhaps you could dance the Remigold in a pretty dress?”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You remember that?”

“Of course I do. It was the first time you really made me laugh.”

“What else do you remember? About me, I mean. About... you know... us.”

“A great deal. Most of it good. When I said that I missed you, I meant that. There has been an Alistair-shaped hole in my heart since you left. It's always that way for me when I lose someone I love. Always. I have a lot holes in my heart, some of which will never be filled again.”

Alistair was quiet for a little while, his head turned as he gazed up at the tapestry of Andraste at war. Rowan looked at his profile: that strong, straight nose and the slope of his forehead, the curve of his lips. It didn't stir her the way it might have once done, but it did still move her heart, and she was strangely, stupidly glad to be looking at him. It was true that she'd never stopped caring about him, despite her hurt and her anger. Teagan knew it and had said so. Nathaniel knew it, too, though he hadn't been quite as forward with his observations.

“I know what you mean,” Alistair said at last. “I missed you, too. I mean, you knew that. And even though I'm sorry, I'm still... can you be sorry and glad at the same time? Because I'm glad I kissed you, and I'm glad you kissed me back. Not because it was so great to kiss you. Though it was quite nice. Err, sorry, that's not exactly what I...”

He turned and met her gaze with the amber brown eyes that had haunted her memories and her dreams and sometimes her nightmares. She had to break the eye contact. It was too intimate for comfort.

“You still make my head feel like it's going to explode,” he said with a slight laugh. “Different reasons now, though, I think. Anyway, now we both know for sure that it's... over. I admit, I did harbour some kind of lingering hope, but when I saw you with Nathaniel, that started to wither pretty quickly. Thank you, though, for kissing me, and thank you for the apology, and I'm sorry, too. For a lot of things. Basically, if I did something that hurt you, consider me sorry for it. If whatever it is I did led to me losing you, definitely consider me sorry for that. And I forgive you for... oh, anything. Everything. I know, you don't need to be forgiven, but I'm saying it anyway because I was really angry and I did blame you and it was stupid but it's done now.”

Rowan was a little shocked. He had clearly matured in the past few years. For some reason, she hadn't really expected that, and it stirred up a whole host of feelings, most of which she couldn't begin to explain at the moment.

“Thank you,” she said. “I think I understand what you're trying to say. The truth is, we both could have handled things better, and we both had a right to be angry, but like you say, it's done now. All we can do is maybe start over, from a new place, from now.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Nathaniel made it clear to me that he thinks it would be good for me to make the effort to be friends with you. He also thinks it would be good for the overall morale and unity of the Vigil's Keep community. He may have a point.”

“For what it's worth, I can see why you promoted him. And I also see why you love him. And, uh, I'm sorry about the way I acted about you and Teagan. I get that now, too.”

“Wow. All right. Anything else you want to confess?” She said it with a smirk, but he took the invitation.

“Yes. I'm sorry I was jealous all the time. I just couldn't help it. I would see you with Zevran and he'd say something saucy to you and you'd laugh and it would just drive me mad. And Leliana, too. You used to sit so close together, giggling, whispering, and you'd go into your tent with her and I'd hear her singing to you and... That was really hard to deal with, let me tell you.”

“Is that why you eventually insisted on sharing my tent?”

“No. Yes. That is, I wanted to sleep with you every night, but it also kept her out. There wasn't room in there for the three of us and Ser Barkley.”

The mabari raised his head at the mention of his name.

“Were you jealous of my dog, too?” Rowan asked dryly.

“Yes, I was,” he said, turning to the dog. “Oh, yes, I was, because he's such a good boy. Such a very good boy. The best boy! Oh, yes, he is!”

If Ser Barkley could have rolled his eyes, he would have.

“So... are we all right now?” Rowan asked as Ser Barkley rolled over onto his side with his back to Alistair.

“I don't know,” Alistair answered. “Maybe? The beginning of all right, I guess. It's going to take some time to figure out how we might... fit, you know?”

“I do know,” she said with a sigh. “And I agree.”

“I'm not, err, keeping you from anything, am I?”

“There are always things I could be doing, but there's nothing that demands my immediate attention.”

“No drills or inspections? Or lessons with Nathaniel's son?”

Rowan raised an eyebrow. “Not today. Why do you ask? Come out and say it.”

“Oh, it's just kind of, ah, unusual, isn't it? Nathaniel having his son here, with you, and the boy's mother. She's the tailor, isn't she?”

“She is. And I guess it is unusual, but the entire situation is. This arling is held not by a proper arl, but by the Commander of the Grey, so that's not only unusual, it's unique. And Nathaniel's sister is here, along with her husband and their son, so that's family for Tristan. It's already been decided that if something happens to Jess, Delilah will step in, since Nathaniel is a Grey Warden and may not always be present.”

“Is Tristan's mother... do you trust her?”

“Yes, of course I trust her. She's never given me any reason not to. She only wants what's best for her son, and she has her own business and plenty of coin from that and from the sale of her property in Highever, so it's not like she's dependent on the arling or the Wardens for anything. She also has more suitors than you can shake a stick at.”

“Is Nathaniel going to acknowledge his son?” Alistair asked. Rowan could hear the pain in his voice.

“Ah. I can see why you'd ask that,” she said gently. “Nathaniel does openly acknowledge Tristan informally. The legal and formal procedure is going to be underway soon. Nathaniel didn't want to burden the boy with the name Howe because of all the things the boy's grandfather did. But I think we've seen a way around that now, and I think it will be okay by the time Tristan is old enough for it to matter. So he'll be a Howe before the wedding.”

“Wedding? Your wedding?”

“Yes. That's something else I wanted to tell you. Nathaniel and I are getting married on Summerday.”

“Right. So. That's what he was talking about. And here I thought he just meant that you and he had, errr, spent a pleasant afternoon together... having an intimate discussion.” Alistair's face went red. “But I'd heard around the Keep that he kept asking you to marry him and you kept turning him down. May I ask, uhm, what changed your mind?”

“You did. It's hard to explain. I just... after I kissed you, as I was walking back to the master suite with Nathaniel, I had so many things in my head. He always has my back. He would never, ever desert me. Even when he's really angry with me, I know he loves and respects me and is willing to talk things out. Or yell them out, if necessary, because he's strong enough to stand up to me when he thinks I'm wrong. He has never forsaken me, and I know he never would. Suddenly, I couldn't find a single reason not to marry him. Honestly, I did want to marry him but I held back for so long because... Oh, I don't know. Something about control and being cursed and losing him if I... It doesn't make any sense. Anyway, I proposed to him, and he set the date.”

“You proposed to him? Right,” Alistair said, frowning slightly. “Err, I'm not really the first person you're telling, am I?”

“No. We've told the immediate family and there are already couriers on their way to Highever and Denerim. There will be an announcement to the Keep very soon, but I thought you should know ahead of time, so you're not caught off guard.”

“I can just imagine all the heads swivelling around to stare at me. Thanks for the warning. Now I can practice looking calm and supportive instead of like I've been slapped in the face with a trout.”

“Are you all right?”

“Oh, yes. I just feel like I've been slapped in the face with a trout, that's all. It's not a surprise or anything, it's just... strange, I guess. You know, Nathaniel told me I'd delivered the love of his life to him, but I didn't know what he meant. Now I see what he was talking about. He told me without telling me. Sneaky.”

Rowan chuckled. “He can be that, yes. So, shall I have Jess get to work on making you a pretty dress? We can dance the Remigold at the reception.”

“For you? Maybe.”

Rowan smiled sadly and so did Alistair. As far as Rowan was concerned, that summed up their entire romantic relationship. It was always conditional and maybe it was never something that could or would stand on its own. One wrong decision, one wrong move, and it all fell apart. That was neither her fault nor his. Both of them could have made different decisions in so many situations, but at the end of the day, most of it was out of their hands and out of their control, guided by the mysterious hand of Fate.

That realisation brought with it a strange kind of relief.

“Well, all right, then,” she said as lightly as she could.

“All right,” Alistair agreed.

“There's one more thing before I let you go. My brother, the Teyrn of Highever, has decided to put up a monument to the Grey Wardens and he wants me present at the dedication ceremony. He was going to make the monument just to and for me, but I insisted he include Senior Warden Riordan, who was born and raised in Highever, though he became a Warden in Orlais, of course. And also Duncan, who was, according to the records I have, born in Highever, though his parents were Rivaini and his family moved to Orlais when he was young. A long time ago, you said you wanted to put up a memorial to Duncan in Highever, do you remember that? I said maybe I'd go with you. Do you still want to go and do that? I know it's not quite like you imagined, but...”

Alistair's face contorted in sorrow. “You want me to join you for that? Even after... everything?”

“I do, yes. It seems... right.”

“Yes, please,” Alistair said sombrely. “I would be honoured.”

“Excellent. I'll let Nathaniel know. He's making the arrangements, as he generally does. We're bringing Oghren, because he's a veteran of the Fifth Blight, and Ser Barkley, of course. He's a veteran, too. And you are, too, even if you weren't there for the final battle. Tristan will go with us because he was born in Highever and we thought he'd like to visit. And I thought we'd bring Melina. She's good company, I like to have a healer when I travel in a group, and also she and my brother are friends. I think you're on good terms with her?”

Alistair's head snapped up and he frowned, but nodded.

“All right then. All good? Everything... fine for the moment?”

“Yes,” Alistair said. “I have a lot to think about, but I think I'm fine. Or I will be.”

“Good,” Rowan said with a smile, though the tension between them was uncomfortable. Alistair smiled back, but still managed to look sad.

The knock on the door cut through the awkward silence and Rowan happily called for whomever it was to enter. As she had expected, it was Nathaniel.

“Everyone all right in here?” he asked. “No one's beat anyone up or reduced anyone to tears?”

“We're fine,” Rowan said, nodding to Alistair, meeting his amber brown gaze. “It's all fine.”

Alistair nodded in return. “Yes, all fine. May I be excused?”

“Yes, of course,” Rowan told him. “Shut the door on your way out.”

“Are you really fine?” Nathaniel asked when Alistair had gone. He walked over to her desk and perched on the edge like he always did.

“I have a confession. I do still love Alistair, and I suspect always will.”

“I know. I'm glad you've finally worked that out.”

She leaned back in her chair and looked at him. His expression was calm, his grey eyes warm.

“I have no interest in him in any romantic or sexual way.”

“I believe you. And I do know that you're in love with me.”

“Yes. This whole thing is... emotional. Ugh.”

“Sweetheart,” Nathaniel said with a sweet, sexy, smile that made her heart beat a little harder, “it will take a while to build a new friendship with Alistair, that's all. I had to do that with Jess, too, working out where the boundaries were and what we could or should talk about and how. For us, it wasn't really that complicated, but for you and Alistair, it is. There's a lot of water under that particular bridge. But you'll sort it out. I have faith in you.”

Rowan nodded and closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them again, frowning.

“Why do you care so much about this? About Alistair?”

“Honestly, I don't care about Alistair, particularly, or his well being. I think I probably pity him a little, and he is under my command, and you already know I carry an odd feeling of debt to him, but that's all. I do, however, care deeply about you, and I believe that some kind of comfortable reconciliation with Alistair will make you happier and heal some of your pain. If it benefits Alistair I don't mind, but you're my primary concern.”

“See, this is why I love you. Yesterday, I was kissing my old lover and you were furious, don't deny it, and today we're betrothed and you're taking care of me like I'm some kind of wounded, rare, precious creature.”

“You are precious, and not just to me. And as for taking care of you, I have a thought on that. The lock mechanism on the hot spring bath has been repaired. I've been trying to work out how we want to handle that, schedule its use, all of that. I'm thinking senior staff on some kind of sign up sheet to reserve the room, which means you and I won't have it all to ourselves any more. For the moment, however, it's there and waiting and other than the dwarf locksmith who fixed it, I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who knows how to get in, though I'll teach you when we go to the cellars if you like. Might you fancy a nice soak in the hot water with someone who loves you and is proud of you and is also willing to massage your scalp and maybe a few other parts of you that need the attention of expert fingers?”

“Oh, that sounds lovely. Do have someone in mind?” she asked with a smirk.

Nathaniel smirked back at her, cracked his knuckles, and winked as he wriggled his fingers. “I do, indeed.”

 


	93. Had It Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fergus meets Alistair.

Word reached Fergus Cousland in the late afternoon that the Hero of Ferelden and her travelling party were approaching the castle, having gone through the city on their way from the docks. He put aside the documents he'd been reviewing and left his study to meet them at the gate.

The last time his sister had been at Highever Castle, she'd collapsed on the doorstep in grief and emotional distress. By the time she'd left, she seemed to be in better spirits, but he didn't know what was going on in her head most of the time, so he thought he'd better be present just in case.

She was fine, and it made him smile. He held open his arms and his little sister, Rowan, the greatest hero Ferelden had known in ages, stepped into his arms for a hug. He kissed her temple as he embraced her, his only living family. Oh, there were some Couslands in the Free Marches as he understood it, and they were probably distant cousins, but he didn't know any of them and they would hardly qualify as family. This, he thought as he held his sister to his chest, was family.

Fergus let go of her and looked at her. She looked well. Happy, even, which was not something he normally thought she was. But she looked happy now, and it made him happy to see it.

He turned to the dark haired man standing just behind her, Fergus' friend from childhood and teenage partner in crime, Nathaniel Howe. Fergus suspected Nathaniel was the reason his sister looked so well, and Fergus was grateful for it.

“Nate,” Fergus said, stepping up to give his friend a hug. Nathaniel was family, too. “Congratulations on getting the minx to agree to marry you after all this time!” They both laughed. It was a running joke. In fact, Nathaniel had written that Rowan had actually proposed to him, and he'd been quick to accept lest she change her mind.

“And here's Tristan,” Nathaniel said, gently urging the boy forward.

“Hello, young man,” Fergus said with a smile. “I think you need to start calling me Uncle Fergus.”

“Yes, all right,” the boy said, a little uncertainly. “I can do that if you like.”

“I would like it very much.”

“Fergus,” Rowan said, “I believe you know most of the company I bring. Evon, of course, newly promoted to Sergeant.” The soldier grinned and offered Fergus a salute, which Fergus returned. The next to step forward was a woman, tall and broad-shouldered, with blonde hair pulled into a messy bun. She wasn't what Fergus would consider a beauty, but when she smiled, he thought she was oddly charming. Like Evon, she saluted, and Fergus reciprocated.

“This is Dawn Lotus of Fisher's End,” Rowan said. “She goes by Dawn.”

“Hey, Fergus,” rumbled a deep, gruff voice, and Fergus turned to grin at Oghren. “I came back for some of that Highever pale ale. And to get honoured as a veteran of the Fifth Blight and all. But mostly for the ale.”

“Of course,” Fergus acknowledged. “Good to see you, too.”

Melina stepped forward, smiling. Maker, she was a lovely woman. She was dressed in furs and leathers like an Avvar, which he understood was her family background. She must have caused quite a stir on the streets of Highever.

Fergus moved toward her and put his hands on her upper arms and leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. She kissed his in return. He would have liked to do more, but it was beyond inappropriate, so he just smiled warmly, told her it was good to see her again, and released her.

Which left one more party member, and Fergus knew exactly who he was. At the moment, the bastard was frowning, his eyes darting between Melina and the teyrn.

“Alistair,” Rowan said simply.

Fergus exchanged glances with Nathaniel.

“The Alistair?” Fergus said. “The one who compromised my sister and then humilated her in front of an entire Landsmeet and then deserted his duty? That one? The royal bastard?”

Rowan opened her mouth to speak but Fergus was already balling up his hand into a fist. Before she or Alistair could react, Fergus had punched the younger man hard in the face, probably breaking his nose, and definitely hurting Fergus' hand. Having been caught off balance, Alistair fell to the ground with a grunt, his hand to his face. Melina rushed to the fallen warrior and immediately started to assess the damage.

“Fergus!” Rowan half shouted and half gasped.

“He deserves more than just a punch in the face and you know it,” Fergus argued, flexing his fingers and hoping he hadn't broken anything in his hand.

“Not the point,” Rowan growled before she turned to Melina. Alistair was getting back to his feet, gingerly touching his face. “Melina, is he all right?”

“He's fine now,” Melina answered tersely.

Rowan nodded. She turned to the castle staff who had been standing nearby. “See my company to their rooms, please. Thank you. Fergus, a word with you in private. Right now.”

Fergus glanced at Nathaniel, who was leaning in to his son, having a quiet word. The boy nodded and went with the others. Well, at least Nathaniel wasn't going to leave Fergus to face the wrath of Rowan Cousland alone. That was something, anyway.

In his study, Rowan shut the door, bolted it, and then turned on Fergus.

“Just what do you think you're doing, assaulting my Grey Wardens?”

“It was only the one Grey Warden,” Fergus pointed out. “And he's not much of one, if you ask me. You didn't even want him under your command, you told me that, yourself. Honestly, I'm surprised you didn't punch him, yourself.”

Rowan sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I can't just go around beating up people under my command. You're a commander, you know this. And I don't especially want to hit him, not now, anyway, but if I did, my reasons would be personal.”

“My reasons were personal, too. You're my sister, my only remaining family. I could kill him for what he did and not think any more about it.”

“I could kill him if I wanted to,” Rowan retorted, waving her fingers dismissively. “I could even do it so that nobody would even question me about it. Vengeance never makes anything better.”

“Doesn't it?” Fergus asked. “You killed Rendon Howe.”

“And it didn't fix anything, did it? The past can't be changed. What do you think punching Alistair achieved?”

Fergus blinked. His sister was staring at him, arms folded over her chest. He had no idea how to answer her.

“It was... Look, some men just deserve a punch in the face,” he said. Even he thought it was a stupid thing to say. Rowan rolled her eyes.

“Fergus,” she said softly, “I understand that you're angry with Alistair. Lots of people are. Lots of people would like to punch him in the face. A few people would undoubtedly like to kill him. I was angry with him for a long time, too, and that's putting it mildly. But he's not the same man who pulled that idiotic stunt at the Landsmeet years ago, and he wants to dedicate his life to doing something worthwhile, and I'm going to give him that opportunity.”

Fergus lowered his gaze. He looked at his hand, swelling and already starting to bruise. He felt chastised, though not necessarily in a bad way. He glanced up at Nathaniel, who had been standing silently throughout the exchange.

“Sweetheart,” Nathaniel said, “I kind of put Fergus up to it.”

She turned, eyes narrowed and stared at Nathaniel. “You what?”

“You know Fergus and I exchange letters regularly. I was irritated with Alistair's presence and mentioned that I wished I could punch him. This was before I had sat down to talk with him, you understand. But he's under my command as well as yours, so I restrained myself. But I did mention it to Fergus in a letter. And then Fergus wrote back saying he'd like to punch Alistair, as well, and... I'm sorry.”

“You're sorry, are you? For what, exactly? For encouraging my brother to assault one of the men under your command? Or for going behind my back to arrange it?”

“No,” Fergus interjected. “No, it was nothing like that. He was just venting to a friend. He didn't tell me to punch Alistair. That was my idea.”

“I didn't disapprove, though,” Nathaniel stated, looking at Fergus. “I wanted you to do it.”

Rowan looked between the two men and took a step back, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation.

“I'm sorry I went behind your back, though that wasn't really intentional,” Nathaniel said. “And I'm sorry for encouraging Fergus to punch Alistair. I could see he meant to do it, and I could have stopped it, and I didn't. I'm not going to say I'm sorry that Alistair got a punch in the face, though. In truth, I found it most satisfying, and I think Oghren might have enjoyed it, as well. Mostly, though I'm sorry that you're upset.”

“Well, that was a fine example of how not to apologise while still saying you're sorry,” Rowan said.

Nathaniel smirked. “What do you want me to say?”

She sighed. “I don't know. The problem here is that I understand exactly what happened, and I understand why. I don't condone this, but I'm having a hard time being really angry. Truth is, I did want to punch him for the longest time, and he kind of did have it coming. However,” she said, turning to Fergus with narrowed eyes, “I have killed people for interfering with my Grey Wardens. I normally do not tolerate this kind of bullshit, Fergus. You're fortunate that you're my brother and that you'd be missed if you were to meet with an accident.”

He raised an eyebrow. She stared into his eyes, unwavering. She wasn't really going to harm him and he knew it, but she was entirely serious about her ability to arrange fatal accidents. He wasn't that surprised, given her position, but it made him sad to know this about his little sister.

“Very well. I apologise to you for assaulting your... inferior,” Fergus said with a slight sneer. “Though I'm glad you recognise that he had it coming.”

“You also have to apologise to Alistair,” she said firmly.

“Fine. I will apologise to the royal bastard, and I will not make further trouble with him, but I will not promise I'm ever going to like or respect him.”

“That's fair enough,” she agreed. “Come on then. Right now.” She turned to leave the room but paused and looked at Nathaniel. “You are not off the hook,” she said quietly.

“I didn't suppose I was,” Nathaniel answered. They stared at each other for a moment. Fergus could practically see sparks flying. Fergus knew them both well enough to see that Rowan was irritated with Nathaniel, and Nathaniel was entirely open to whatever she wanted to dish out. Fergus didn't want to think about what that might entail.

“Maker's breath, you two,” Fergus said in mock disgust. “You have an assigned room, same one as last time. Why don't you go there?”

Nathaniel chuckled but Rowan just tossed her head and marched off to find a staff member to tell her where the guests were assigned. Fergus and Nathaniel followed in her wake. She knocked on the door of one of the guest suites and heard the muffled voice of a man call out to enter.

Nathaniel touched Rowan on the arm. “I'm going to go find Tristan. I think I'd better have a few words with him,” he said. She nodded and opened the door to the guest room.

Alistair was sitting on the edge of the bed in only his breeches, drinking something out of a goblet. Melina was standing nearby, watching him drink. Whatever was in the goblet, Alistair seemed unhappy with it.

“Melina,” Rowan said. “How is he?”

Fergus couldn't help but smile at the attractive mage, who ignored him and started to gather her healing kit together.

“I've given him a potion for the remaining pain,” the mage answered, “and it should do a few other good things for him, provided he actually drinks it.”

Alistair looked sheepish and raised the goblet to his lips, though he made a face doing it.

“Good,” Rowan said. “Thank you, Melina. And now my brother is going to apologise to Alistair.”

Melina gave Rowan a tight smile. “Good. He should. I'd like to go and change my clothes and clean up. Do you need anything else?”

Fergus gingerly flexed his fingers and thought that he would very much appreciate magical healing for his hand, but this didn't seem to be the time or the place to mention it.

“No, you can go if you like,” Rowan said.

Fergus smiled at Melina as she brushed past him, but she pointedly ignored him. The smile faded from his face as he watched her leave the room.

“Fergus?” Rowan said.

“What? Oh, yes. Alistair, I apologise for striking you without warning. I will not do so again. But do you understand why I did it?”

“Oh, yes, I do,” Alistair answered with a sad smile. “And I don't really blame you. She's making you apologise, isn't she?”

Fergus raised his eyebrows in surprise. The bastard was certainly cheeky. And right.

“Ah, yes,” he admitted. “But I did mean it.”

Alistair smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “She has that effect on everyone then, even her brother? Wow. Apology accepted, by the way. And you pack a very hard, mean punch. It was impressive, even if it was painful. I don't think anyone's ever broken my nose before.”

Fergus felt entirely disarmed. He looked at Rowan, who shrugged.

“All right then,” she said. “Alistair, drink your potion. Fergus, your hand is turning black and blue. Why don't you go and find a healer? I'm off to my room to change out of my travelling clothes and get washed up. Dinner is at the usual time? Good. I'll expect you both to be on your best behaviour. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” the two men answered in unison. The looked at each other, and both smiled grudgingly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Alistair. Don't worry, he'll get there. Melina's a little bit sweet on him (I don't think he knows this yet). He's going to get his own story (and he keeps bugging me about it!). 
> 
> I may take a bit of a hiatus for a little while, because it's coming up on the holidays and my kids are home from school and it's summer here and it tends to get really hot in my office so it's hard to concentrate, and I want to build up my buffer a little more. But I will be back. These two will never let me rest, I guarantee it. They bother me all the damned time, doing stuff in my head... ;)


	94. Give Me a Ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan gets a family treasure, Fergus makes an offer, and situations are settled.

Dinner was strangely normal, given the day's earlier events. Most of the castle just seemed to take it as the right of an older brother to punch his sister's betrayer. Alistair was well known, if not by sight, thanks to the tavern tales. Given the adoration the people of Highever had for Rowan, their own Hero, it wasn't too surprising that they viewed Alistair with deep dislike.

Nathaniel, on the other hand, was pleased to see that he seemed to be accepted now, if sometimes grudgingly. Being the betrothed of the Hero of Ferelden apparently had its benefits, apart from the obvious.

Rowan was annoyed with him, of course. He didn't really blame her, but he hadn't honestly intended for Fergus to punch Alistair in the face. Or, rather, he hadn't thought Fergus would go through with it. The letter to Fergus had mostly been venting, and Nathaniel had refrained from mentioning the kiss Alistair had initiated with Rowan. If Fergus knew about that, he would have gone farther than just a single punch in the face.

At dinner, Rowan was seated to her brother's right, Nathaniel on his left, and Tristan was seated beside Rowan. Nathaniel liked that Fergus always honoured Tristan that way, and Nathaniel was very pleased to occupy the seat to the teyrn's left, an honour probably given in acknowledgment of the betrothal. The honour afforded to him and his son would not go unnoticed, and gossip would trickle down to the city and beyond. By the time Tristan was old enough to take on Rowan's dowry and be a bann, the name Howe would have been redeemed enough that he shouldn't have to explain himself in any great measure.

Alistair was also at the high table, as were the rest of the company from Vigil's Keep. Nathaniel caught a number of people looking Alistair's way, murmuring to themselves, nudging one another. Nathaniel couldn't hear any of the things they were saying, but he could guess they were talking about the “royal bastard” and how the teyrn had broken his nose earlier in the day.

Alistair had to know they were talking about him. If Nathaniel could see it, Alistair certainly could. He glanced down the table and saw that the younger man kept his focus on his food, and did not look up to acknowledge the gathering at all.

To Nathaniel's right, Fergus and Rowan were bantering with each other through the meal.

“So are you going to let me escort you to your bridegroom,” Fergus asked, turning to include Nathaniel in the conversation, “or are you too grown up and important for that now?”

“Well, I am terribly important and very grown up,” Rowan retorted, “but, yes, I will allow you to escort me to my bridegroom, because despite how important I am, you're still my brother, and I love you.”

“I wish it could be Father,” Fergus said sadly.

“So do I. Do you think they'd approve of me marrying Nathaniel?”

“If they saw the way your face lights up when you look at him, and the way he looks at you like he would tear down a castle with his bare hands to be with you, they would have known it was a love match, and that's what they always hoped for you. For both of us. Speaking of which, were you really in love with the royal bastard?”

Rowan inhaled sharply. “I was.”

“He is charming, I'll give you that,” Fergus mused. “Nate told me as much, but I wasn't prepared for how... disarming Alistair is.”

“He is that. And he can be quite funny and very sweet. He's different now, though. Darker. More serious. He's grown up, but not happily. He beats himself up all the time. I don't know how to help him.”

“As a commander, or as... an associate, let's say?”

“Both.”

“Ah. That will tricky.”

“No advice, mighty general?”

“I can't say as I've been in any position even close to the one you're in, sorry.”

“I doubt anyone has been, to be honest. I seem to have a knack for falling into unprecedented situations.”

“I don't envy you that,” Fergus said, reaching out and giving her hand a squeeze. “After dinner, come to my study, along with Nate and Tristan. We can discuss your dowry. Took some time to get the contracts and documents worked out. I have copies for you and for Tristan's mother. I even had a set drawn up for Tristan.”

After dinner, there were the usual evening entertainments available. Gaming of various sorts, drinking, and there were minstrels in the great hall. Alistair disappeared as soon as it was polite to do so. Melina followed him. Oghren went off with some of the soldiers and knights of the castle to tell tall tales and make rude jokes and consume alcohol. Evon and Dawn were apparently going to a Wicked Grace game in the barracks. And Nathaniel, Rowan, and Tristan accompanied Fergus to his study, with Ser Barkley at Rowan's heel.

Fergus handed over the documents he'd had drawn up and mentioned a few things that were in them. Tristan occupied himself by petting Ser Barkley while the adults spoke of legal matters.

“Tristan,” Fergus said finally, and the boy looked up.

“My lord?”

“Uncle Fergus, if you like, remember? Or you don't have to. It's up to you. But either way, I have a proposition to make, and it concerns you.” Fergus turned to Nathaniel. “When Tristan is older, would you be interested in sending him here to Highever to train with me? I'll be looking after his lands until he's ready to take over, and I'm in the best position to teach him about those bannorns and their management and so on. He can travel with me, and I can bring him to court, as well, and to Landsmeets if there are any to attend. Essentially, I can do all the things my father did with me, teach Tristan things he needs to know. Nate, I know that you and your seneschal are giving Tristan some education in these matters, but you're a Grey Warden and not technically a lord any more, and I'd be honoured to be his mentor, especially since we'll be related by marriage.”

“Well, we'd have to speak with his mother, of course,” Nathaniel said, glancing at Tristan, who was listening, wide-eyed. “And Tristan gets to have a say, as well. But overall, I think it's an excellent idea. Being the ward of the Teyrn of Highever is quite the honour, and learning politics and land management from a Cousland would certainly stand my son in good stead.”

“That's a generous offer, Fergus,” Rowan said. “Thank you.”

“There's no hurry in deciding,” Fergus said, looking at Tristan with a smile. “In the meantime,” he continued, turning to Rowan, “I have surprise for you, little sister.”

Fergus got out his keys and unlocked the desk drawer, and withdrew an elegant box, embossed with a rich floral design. He unlocked it with another key and then opened the lid and turned it toward Rowan.

“Fergus, this is Grandmother's jewel box. How is this safe?”

“Ah, it was hidden away in a secret place Father showed me once. I'll show you before you leave Highever, just in case. Mother was very protective of this box, as you well know, so she didn't take any chances. Not even the treasury was safe enough. Honestly, I'd forgotten all about it until I heard of your betrothal, and then I went to see if by some chance it was still there, and it was. So, we're following the family tradition. Take a piece for your betrothal.”

Rowan looked over the small treasures in the box. Nathaniel couldn't see them all, but he could tell it was jewellery, and much of it seemed to be heirloom and antique. Some pieces were probably just trinkets with sentimental value, but he saw quite a few that would justify the specially made locked box being kept in a secret hiding place.

“This one,” she said suddenly, plucking up a ring. She slipped it on her finger and smiled to find it was a good fit.

“I knew you'd pick that one,” Fergus said with a smile. “You always liked it, even when you were a child.”

“I'm surprised you remember that, but you're right, I always did love this ring. Something about the colours, I suppose. This will look beautiful with my wedding ring if I want to wear them together. Nate,” she said, turning to him with a smile, “this was my paternal grandmother's ring, but it's probably much older than she was. The stone is a diamond.”

She held out her hand to let him see. The stone was of good size, faceted, clear, and softly pale tawny gold, cut into the shape of a teardrop. It was placed in a drakestone and silverite setting that complimented and enhanced the colour of the diamond. Nathaniel had never seen anything quite like it, and while the stone was almost certainly dwarven cut, he wondered at the metalworking and if it was, as well.

Everything about the ring suited her. The colour, the design, even the teardrop shape of the stone.

“It's beautiful,” Nathaniel said, “just like you.”

He raised her hand to kiss her knuckles. She smiled at him and the look in her eye told him she wasn't really angry with him, but she might just keep playing at it for a while. He winked at her. She smirked very slightly and pulled her hand back.

Rowan stepped toward her brother and kissed him on the cheek. “Fergus, you're a good brother, and I love you. And now I'd like you to have a word with Tristan about how you punched my Warden in the face in front of him and why that was wrong of you.”

Fergus nodded and cleared his throat. “Tristan, I apologise if I frightened or upset you. Years ago, Alistair dishonoured my sister in a very public way. I was angry when I learned about it, and I stayed angry, especially since I knew Rowan didn't really want him under her command. I hit him to defend her honour, but the truth is, I lost my temper, and I shouldn't have hit him without warning. I should have challenged him on the field and done it properly, like a gentleman. And what's more, I hurt my hand quite badly on the bones in his face when they smashed under my knuckles. I'm lucky there was a healer to fix it for me. I do not recommend punching people in the face if you have any other appropriate options.”

Rowan sighed. Tristan nodded seriously, though there was a bit of merriment playing around his eyes, and Nathaniel didn't miss the wink Fergus gave the boy. Fergus had never been good at apologising when he thought he was right. Clearly, this was one of those times.

“Well, Fergus, thank you for that effort, anyway,” Rowan said to her brother, who nodded to her and smirked. “Tristan, the teyrn has apologised to Alistair and others. He was out of line, and I do not exaggerate when I say that I have killed people for trying to interfere with those under my command. I have a duty of care to uphold. I can't and won't personally intervene in every conflict, but I had to take an interest in this, given the circumstances.”

“A lot of people are angry with Alistair,” Tristan said in a very matter of fact way and a slight shrug. “I hear them talking about it at home. I understand why the t... Uncle Fergus might want to hit him. But he shouldn't have lost his temper. Papa Martin always said that once you lose your temper, you lose your sense with it.”

Fergus laughed, a merry, booming sound. “Very well said,” Fergus agreed. “I stand chastised.” He turned to Rowan and raised an eyebrow. “Am I forgiven, Commander?”

“When you've apologised to the rest of my company, yes.”

“I already did,” Fergus answered rather smugly. “Although Oghren didn't need an apology. He found the entire thing hilarious.”

“He would,” Rowan answered. “All right then, you're forgiven. Please never put me in a position like this again, all right? I'd hate to have to kill you or beat you up or something.”

“Oh, you think you could beat me?” Fergus asked with a smirk.

“I don't have to. I'm the Hero of Ferelden as well as your little sister, so if you did beat me, you'd be the bad guy, and if you lost, you'd be the fool for having challenged me. So I don't have to beat you. You can't win.”

Nathaniel had to chuckle and so did Fergus.

“Very well, you have me,” Fergus said. He paused and then added, grinning, “Pup.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about the drakestone in the ring: I was going to make it summerstone, but I was thinking of rose gold and I think drakestone looks more like rose gold than summerstone. Drakestone apparently has some sort of explosive or pyro properties (Anders used it to create a specific device, after all), but it can also be crafted into weapons and armour, so it must be workable to the point of being safe to wear. As it happens, I got a very pretty rose gold ring for Christmas and I thought Rowan might like rose gold, too. (My ring has a morganite in it, though, not a diamond). 
> 
> \---
> 
> My hiatus ended up being much longer than I anticipated. Aside from some things going on that demanded a lot of attention and with which I won't bore you, I ended up having some medical issues that needed to be sorted out right away. I'm on some new medications that have weird effects that include making me dopey and unable to focus. Naturally, this makes writing quite challenging. However, I've finally started to really adjust to the new medicine regime and my brain is mostly working again, which is comforting, to say the least. 
> 
> Also, Alistair was bugging me quite a lot. His story is taking shape in my head and it runs concurrently with this one, though it starts later and ends after and the stories are intertwined. He doesn't seem to mind having Rowan and Nathaniel in his story in a few crucial places, so that's good. 
> 
> Also... Nathaniel and Rowan seem to be ready to tell me about the somewhat alternative Thedas where they were actually betrothed when she was quite young in an arranged marriage that ended up working out quite well, but so far they're mostly having a lot of sex and enjoying the tournament held partly in honour of their wedding, so I don't know how they're going to get from literal newlyweds to where they tell me they'll eventually end up. 
> 
> So three stories at once and a fuzzy head and some other dramatic things going on (nothing bad, just stressful and demanding) and that explains what I've been up to. :) 
> 
> I do have more chapters of this written. Also definitely going to be writing some connected but one-off smut stories that are just the things Rowan and Nathaniel get up to. They're quite playful, and more than a little kinky, so... ;)


	95. Dedication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan and Alistair share a moment at the dedication ceremony.

The dedication ceremony was to be held mid-morning in the main square of the town where the statue had been installed. Highever's Grand Cleric was present to offer a chant and a blessing, and most of the town had turned out for the event. There was an open house banquet at the castle later, as well, which was sure to draw an enormous crowd.

A small troop of Highever soldiers and knights accompanied the Teyrn, the Grey Wardens, and their guests. Tristan was present, walking between his father and the Hero of Fereleden. The crowd was respectfully quiet as the invited guests took their place on the platform constructed for the event. The Teyrn of Highever was flanked by his sister on his right and and Oghren on his left, while Ser Barkley sat smartly beside Oghren. Alistair, a Fifth Blight veteran and a Grey Warden, despite what happened, was to Rowan's right, drawing stares and trying unsuccessfully to sink down into his armour and hide.

Melina and Nathaniel, neither veterans of the Blight but both Grey Wardens, were in the row behind the teyrn and his sister. Nathaniel was between Rowan and Fergus; Melina was behind Oghren.

To the side was Tristan, between Evon and Dawn, watching the proceedings.

Rowan pulled the rope to unveil the statute and the crowd gasped and made noises of approval as they broke into a round of applause. It was exactly as Rowan had negotiated: a single griffon, carved from stone, set atop a four-sided stone pedestal, with a different inscription on each side. When the people settled down, the Grand Cleric gave a blessing, after which the Teryn began a prepared speech.

“People of Highever,” he began, his rich, baritone voice carrying out across the square, “today we dedicate this monument to the Grey Wardens of Highever.” He paused, and the crowd applauded.

“To Senior Warden Riordan, born and bred in Highever, who gave his life in the Battle of Denerim, wounding the archdemon so that it could be slain.” Again he paused, and there was a round of applause. Rowan lowered her head as a stab of sadness struck her at the thought of Riordan. She would have liked getting to know him, learning from him, but there had been no time. She had a few documents about him, since he was Ferelden before he went to Orlais, but the information was sparse and she didn't learn much more about him than she had when he was alive.

“To Warden-Commander Duncan, born in Highever, who died at the Battle of Ostagar,” Fergus announced. He paused, the crowd applauded again.

Rowan reached out to Alistair and took his hand. He jumped slightly, but didn't withdraw. She glanced at him, he looked back at her, puzzled. Their eyes met. Rowan's heart hurt a little when they did. Alistair's expression relaxed a little and he nodded slightly. Rowan squeezed Alistair's hand. He returned the gesture and she turned back to the crowd, her head bowed as tears filled her eyes. So many feelings.

Nathaniel put a hand on her shoulder and she couldn't help but smile, despite her sombre mood. He was reminding her that he was there, and he had her back. A tear rolled down her cheek and she didn't resist.

“To all the Grey Wardens, known and unknown, who have hailed from Highever over the many ages the Order has existed,” Fergus called out. The crowd applauded again. Rowan sighed. No one could even estimate how many Highverans had joined or been conscripted into the Grey Wardens. Thousands, probably. Weisshaupt would have records, she supposed, but unless there was a reason to check, the names and deeds of those thousands of people were, like so many Grey Warden stories, lost to most of the world. Another tear rolled down her face, this time from the other eye.

“And to my sister, Rowan Cousland, born and bred in Highever, the Hero of Ferelden, Commander of the Grey, hero of the Fifth Blight.” The crowd started to cheer and applaud. Fergus' voice was almost drowned out when he said, “She has done our family and all of Highever proud!”

After that there was no point speaking, because the crowd erupted with wild cheers, hoots, and thunderous applause. Rowan let go of Alistair's hand and wiped her face as she looked over her shoulder at Nathaniel, who raised an eyebrow at her, smiling gently. She smiled in return, her heart filled with more conflicting emotions than she knew what to do with.

There was an all-day banquet at the castle, a tradition observed on holidays and special occasions. Everyone who wished to attend would be welcome. Certain areas of the castle were off limits, of course, but the great hall and the main courtyards and the chapel would be open to the public. The people started heading toward the castle along with the teyrn and the rest of the entourage.

Walking back to the castle, Nathaniel took Rowan's hand as they went. Alistair, with Melina keeping close by him, was with the group of Wardens and soldiers from Vigil's Keep. All the soldiers and Wardens were in full armour and were armed, so Rowan didn't worry for his safety, though a few in the crowd might have wanted to take a swing at “the royal bastard” if they got the chance.

Tristan was walking with “Uncle Fergus”, the two of them surrounded by soldiers and knights. Rowan could only just get occasional glimpses of the boy, but he and Fergus appeared to be engaged in some sort of animated conversation. Fergus certainly seemed to be enjoying Tristan's company and whatever they were talking about.

“Are you all right?” Nathaniel asked Rowan quietly.

“I am.”

“May I ask about that moment between you and Alistair?”

“I promise I'll tell you later,” she said. “But it's nothing you need to worry about. No need to get jealous or anything.”

Nathaniel snorted. “I'm not jealous of Alistair. I happen to know you're absolutely besotted with love for me. How could you not be? I'm ten times the man he is, after all. I'll demonstrate later if you like.”

Rowan chuckled. “Ah, yes, there's the arrogant noble brat I love so much. Silver-tongued and cocksure.”

“Mmm, if there's one thing I am sure of,” he said, leaning close so he could lower his voice to just over a whisper, “it is my cock. And my tongue, now that you mention it.”

“I'm pretty sure, too,” she answered quietly, and then turned her head and gave him a quick kiss on the corner of the mouth.

Behind them, someone in the crowd chuckled and there was a quiet murmur as people commented to each other on the open display of affection between the Hero and her betrothed. Rowan had to smile. If the people of Highever could accept a Howe in the family, so to speak, the rest of Ferelden should be able to do the same.

 

~*~

 

Rowan made it clear that she didn't really want to attend the banquet, but her presence was expected. So she went, her hand tucked into Nathaniel's arm, and stepped into the great hall. She slowed down, then stopped.

“Are you all right?” Nathaniel asked quietly.

“Right over there,” she said, gesturing toward the enormous fireplace in the far end of the hall. “That's where your father stood, chatting pleasantly with my father and me, knowing he was about to betray us all.”

Nathaniel nodded sadly. They stood in silence for a moment and then Rowan drew herself up to her full height and took a deep breath.

“Come on,” she said. “Let's get through this. This is for the people of Highever more than anything. I can do this.”

So they made their way through the crowd. Rowan was smiling and nodding, engaging in light conversation, shaking hands, trying to steer the subject away from the Blight but failing more often than not and having to tell her well-rehearsed story about the archdemon. A few times, Nathaniel politely but firmly drew her way on some pretence or another. She was doing well, but she seemed preoccupied. A casual observer probably wouldn't notice, but Nathaniel did.

They ate, they drank some. They talked to Tristan, who had been tagging along with Fergus the whole time, and to the Amaranthine soldiers, Evon and Dawn, who were happily sampling all of the dishes on offer and joking with some of the Highever soldiers. Oghren was happily getting drunk on Highever mead and telling somewhat exaggerated tales of fighting alongside the Hero of Ferelden. Alistair was lurking in a corner with Melina beside him. She had been with him almost constantly since the group's arrival at Highever.

Rowan kept up her mask of authority and nobility as she moved through the crowd, but Nathaniel could see it slipping now and then. He excused them both and pulled her aside to a quiet corner of the hall behind a heavy wooden beam and blocked her from the view of the room with his broad shoulders.

“What's wrong? Don't tell me nothing. Can I help?”

She smiled gently at him. “Did you see Alistair? He looks terribly uncomfortable.”

“So he should,” Nathaniel answered. “Everyone knows what he did. I think the only reason no one else has tried to punch him is because he's armed, and because Fergus already did that, and in a very public way. Plus the fact that Alistair constantly has a mage with him and is clearly under the protection of the Hero of Ferelden for reasons they can't fathom. Look, I know about the promise you made to Alistair about setting up a memorial for Duncan, and I know that's why you invited him along. I was dubious as to the value of it then, and I still am. Neither of you seem comfortable with any of this.”

“Can we have this discussion later, please? When I've had a chance to sort out what's going on in my head and my heart?”

Nathaniel pulled her into his arms and kissed her on the forehead. “Of course. Now I will repeat: is there anything I can do to help?”

“No. I just have to work through it, like everything else. And I need to have word with Alistair, make sure he's all right.”

“I love that about you,” Nathaniel said, looking into the green eyes of the woman he adored. “That man humiliated you, broke your heart, deserted you and his duty, and yet you still care about him, even though I know how strongly you feel about desertion and duty.”

“I wish I didn't care.”

“No. Your compassion is what makes you a good leader and an excellent commander. And your willingness to give me a chance is why we're together, after all.”

She smiled at that and kissed him gently on the lips.

“Do you want to slip away?” he asked. “I expect we could and no one would wonder very much where we went. Or why,” he added suggestively.

“Mmm, I can imagine what they'd think.”

“They could be right. I did promise you earlier that I'd give you a demonstration of my sureness with my cock.”

“So you did,” Rowan agreed. “And I would welcome that, but I want to have a word with Alistair first. Alone. I'll meet you in our suite, all right? If you wanted to be naked and posing seductively I wouldn't complain, but you're under no obligation.”

“Oh, minx, I'm always obliged to you,” he answered before pressing his lips to hers in a tender kiss.

When he pulled back she said, “Come on. Let's not embarrass ourselves.”

“Oh, I'm not embarrassed,” he retorted with a grin. “And I don't think you are, either.”

Rowan smirked at him as he stepped away from her and offered her his arm, and they made their way across the hall. As they went, a few people nodded and smiled knowingly. One woman winked at them.

Alistair, when they went up to him, did look decidedly uncomfortable in the crowd. Melina was with him, as she had been since they arrived at Highever Castle. She seemed to be keeping an eye on him as well as the people in the hall.

“Melina,” Rowan said, and the dark-haired mage smiled. “Enjoying the festivities?”

“There's a lot of food. Seafood, especially. I assume that's because Highever is a port city?”

“Quite right,” Rowan answered with a smile. “Very much a traditional part of the local menu. Is everything going all right?”

“As well as can be expected, Commander,” Melina answered with a wry grin.

“It's kind of you to act as Alistair's bodyguard,” Rowan said with a straight face.

“Hey, that's not –” Alistair started to protest.

“She's joking,” Melina said gently, putting a hand on Alistair's arm. “I should have thought you of all people would know a joke when you hear one.”

“Yes. Of course. You're right. Yes, of course. Sorry. I'm a little jumpy.”

“Alistair, I'd like a word with you in private, if you please,” Rowan said calmly. “It won't take long. I'll show you the private rose garden, though there are no roses this time of year, of course. Still, it's pretty this time of day all year round.”

Alistair frowned. “I... yes, Commander... Uh...” Alistair glanced at Nathaniel, who was wearing his customary stern expression for effect. He nodded curtly and dropped his arm as Rowan withdrew her hand.

“I'll be waiting for you in our suite, as suggested,” Nathaniel said, almost formally.

“Noted,” Rowan returned, the corner of her mouth twitching in a suppressed smile for a moment before she turned to the sandy-haired warrior. “Alistair? Shall we?”

Nathaniel watched the woman he loved as she made her way out of the hall with her former lover in tow before turning to Melina.

“Is Alistair all right?”

“He will be,” Melina answered pleasantly. Then she turned her blue gaze on Nathaniel, seeming to look through him. “And so will Rowan. And you and she together. It will all work out.”

Nathaniel gave her a half smile. “I know it will.”

“Yes,” Melina answered with a smile of her own. “I believe you do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still writing. Still struggling to get my medication adjusted and it's still causing all kinds of annoyances. But still here and still writing.


	96. Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rowan and Alistair consider the nature of promises made and promises broken and promises fulfilled.

Rowan nodded to the guard, who stepped aside from the door so she could step outside. She waited for Alistair to follow before she shut the door. The small, informal garden was private, and off-limits to the public. It was really just a place that had been left unused as the castle was built up over the years, and some Cousland ancestor had thought it would make a nice little retreat and planted some roses and other flowers, and put in some benches and a birdbath.

She'd gotten her first kiss in this garden, just over there beneath the roses. And her second. And a lot more after that, as well as some entirely inappropriate caresses and other activities. She smiled at that memory. It seemed like another lifetime, and another person. They were the memories of a girl she remembered having been, but was no longer.

Back during the Blight, Rowan had sometimes imagined bringing Alistair to this garden, but under very different circumstances. That still made her heart ache, in that Alistair-shaped hole he left behind when he left her so abruptly.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Alistair asked.

“I'm sorry this trip has been so difficult for you. That wasn't my intention.”

“I believe you,” Alistair answered. “I knew you were well-loved, but the people of Highever practically worship you, don't they? And they hate me for... Well, I can't say that I blame them. I expect your brother will have gained some goodwill for punching me.”

Rowan sighed. “Yes, I expect so. That's not why he did it.”

“I know exactly why he did it,” Alistair said quietly. “I meant it when I said I didn't blame him. I deserve a lot more than a punch in the face. I'm still surprised by how nice you and Nathaniel have been to me, honestly, especially after I...” Alistair shifted uncomfortably and took a seat on one of the stone benches. “I heard that Nathaniel had a lot of problems because of what his father did.”

“Yes, though not usually in my presence. Well, usually nothing overt. I saw plenty of muttering and dirty looks when people recognised him, and there was a noble at the palace who challenged him, but he's weathered it all with surprising grace, even though I know how much it bothers him. He was only very warily received in Highever the first time we came here together, in fact. He was with me and with Fergus, though, and there are some very flattering tavern songs about him, so most people were civil if wary and suspicious. It's been better for a while now, though. Anora was very gracious and very thorough in redeeming his name and making it clear that the actions of the father are not the actions of the son.”

“Your influence, I take it.”

“Yes. She wanted a favour. Her efforts on Nathaniel's behalf were part of that arrangement.”

Alistair looked up at her, dawning realisation blooming over his handsome face. “That's why you agreed to take me back. I couldn't work that one out. Teagan said he persuaded you, but I didn't think even he could manage that. You agreed to take me back for Nathaniel's sake?”

“Partly. Also, Anora had something hanging over my head that she was using as leverage. It was nothing I couldn't have sorted out on my own with some time and effort, but it would have been messy and distracting and possibly damaging to me or the Grey Wardens, and she knew that. I framed the situation with Nathaniel as being mutually beneficial. You were just a small part of that. Honestly, neither Teagan nor I ever thought you would want to be under my command. I'm still somewhat shocked by it, and still not entirely certain it's going to work, or if the other Grey Wardens will ever accept you. I may have to station you up at Soldier's Peak or something. Or make a deal with Orzammar to have an outpost there.”

Alistair shifted restlessly. “That's not really want you wanted to talk about, though.”

“No. I wanted to talk about promises. You and I made a lot of promises to each other, Alistair, spoken and unspoken. Those promises are the things that have haunted me the most.”

“Me, too.”

“Today was a promise fulfilled and therefore put to rest.”

“So it was,” Alistair said thoughtfully. “More than I've done.”

“Stop. You keep beating yourself up. You need to stop that.”

“That's what Mel says,” Alistair admitted. “I think I'm her special project.”

“Is that so?” Rowan asked, raising one eyebrow and smiling.

“It's not like that,” Alistair said with a wave of his hand, which he then raked through his hair. “Mel and I are friends, that's all. You know what she's like. She's a healer and she thinks I need healing.”

Rowan smiled. “Yes, I do know what she's like. I'm glad she's taken you under her wing. If anyone can sort you out, it's Melina.”

Alistair just gave a non-committal grunt.

“Well,” Rowan said, “A long time ago, I said I'd come with you to Highever after the Blight to put up a memorial to Duncan. Now that's happened. It's a promise fulfilled.”

“Is... that why you took my hand?”

“I was feeling emotional,” she answered with a shrug.

Alistair nodded. “We made other promises, too.”

“Yes. And some of them were never fulfilled. For example, you went off to the Free Marches and never fulfilled your oath to the Grey Wardens.”

“I know. But it's strange, because when I came back to Ferelden, I was going to stay with Teagan, serve in his garrison. You're right that I didn't want to see you, let alone be under your command. I knew I wouldn't be accepted after what I did. Or what I failed to, I guess. But I couldn't stop thinking about the Grey Wardens. In the end, I had to try.”

“Like the pull of your promise to Duncan brought you back to it,” she said thoughtfully.

“Yeah,” Alistair agreed. “Something like that.”

“There was also a promise... that we'd stay together.”

“Broken.”

“Yes. Just like your promise to the Grey Wardens. But now, look at us. We live in the same place. We're members of the same highly secretive order, sharing knowledge that only Wardens can share. Comrades in arms, and veterans of the Fifth Blight, even if you didn't stay for the big ending. I think that counts as being together. Or close enough to it.”

“I... suppose it does,” Alistair conceded. “And as I understand it, your agreement with the queen means you have to keep an eye on me.”

“Well, yes,” Rowan admitted. “That, too.”

“So that's another promise, isn't it? Not just to me, but to Anora.”

“Yes.”

“All right. Then I guess we'll stay together. Not... like before, obviously. But if we can be... on good terms... Well, I've already said I'm in favour of that. And your second-in-command thinks it's a good idea, and I wouldn't want to invoke his wrath. I haven't seen the full force of it, but I'm sure it's terrible.”

“It can be,” she said with a chuckle. “So, good. Anything else? The rose?”

“That was a gift,” he said quietly. “I gave it to you because I wanted you to have it.”

She nodded. She still had that rose, plucked from a bush in a town that was later wiped off the map by darkspawn. She hadn't looked at the rose in years, but she still had it. Wynne had cast some sort of preservation spell on it for her, and Rowan kept it hidden away. Why she'd never gotten rid of it, she didn't know, but she hadn't.

She looked at Alistair in the fading light and then glanced at the rose trellis, devoid of blossoms this time of year, where she and Nathaniel had stood not so very long ago, kissing in the moonlight, and she had told him things so personal and so private, been so vulnerable with him that it was dizzying, thinking about Rory and starting to let go of that grief. The memory of Nathaniel there was far more vivid now than the memory of Rory, may he walk by the Maker's side. She looked back at Alistair.

“So, what else did we promise?” Alistair asked.

“Uh, well, I guess we both promised Duncan we'd act appropriately as Grey Wardens, and as I'm Warden-Commander, I guess I've done that. You may have some work to do on that one.”

Alistair looked up and saw her smirking at him and he let himself smile. “Yeah, okay. Very funny.”

“You may as well learn to laugh about it, Alistair, like you do everything else.”

“I know. Learn to live with it. We all make mistakes. Mel says that, too.”

“I'm not surprised she does.”

“Easy for you to say. You never make mistakes.”

“Yes, I do. How do you think Anora had leverage over me?”

“I... that is a good question,” Alistair said with a frown. “What was it?”

“In a nutshell, I didn't take action on something I should have and it snowballed into something that could have been quite the scandal, and put the Grey Wardens in a very poor light. As I said, I could have sorted it out on my own, but it was to my advantage to make a deal with Anora.”

“Huh,” Alistair said.

“I've made other mistakes, too. One cost me good Wardens, one of whom was someone I very much cared for. And there are other decisions that may yet come back to haunt me. At least one could prove to be a threat to the whole world. Who knows what my next mistake will be? I'm sure there will be plenty.”

“I'm surprised you're telling me all this.”

“Why? It's just the truth. And I wanted to make you understand that everyone makes mistakes, and we live with the consequences and get on with our lives and make the best of it, because that's what people do. It's especially what Grey Wardens do, or what they should do, anyway. Learn from your mistakes and move forward, Alistair. That's what Duncan would have told you, as well.”

“He would have,” Alistair agreed.

“Then we're in agreement,” Rowan said. “You, me, and Duncan. You're going to pick yourself up and make yourself useful and move forward. Promise me, Alistair.”

She looked him in the eye and he looked back at her.

“I promise.”

“All right then. Good. You're dismissed. I expect Melina will be waiting for you.”

“Probably. She'll want to know what we talked about. Not in a nosy way. She's just... well, I'm her pet project and all.”

Rowan smiled. “Yes. You make a fine pet, Alistair.”

He grinned. “Woof.”

“I expect Nathaniel will want to know what we were talking about, too. He already wants to know about the moment you and I shared today at the dedication.”

“I'm not in trouble, am I?”

“No. Why would you be?”

“I'm not supposed to touch you.”

Rowan laughed. “I touched you first and it was only your hand, plus it was in public, with him right behind me. And you couldn't very well disobey your commander's order to hold her hand, could you? It's all fine. I find it hard to believe he really told you that you're not allowed to touch me.”

“Well... not exactly. He said I wasn't allowed to touch you like I did when I grabbed hold of you and kissed you. I can't blame him on that one. It was a really stupid –”

“Stop that,” Rowan interrupted. “What did I say about moving forward?”

“Yes, Commander. Sorry.”

Rowan smiled. “Better. Water under the bridge, no going back, all of that. So long as you learn from your mistakes, you'll do well.”

Alistair got to his feed and nodded. “Can you show me how to get back to my room? This castle is enormous, and confusing. I have no idea where we are.”

“Sure. Come on. We're both in the guest wing. I'll walk you there.”

So the Hero of Ferelden walked side by side with the Royal Bastard and just as plenty of people had seen her take his hand at the dedication ceremony, and had seen them leave the hall together, plenty saw them return, walking together companionably on their way to the far wing of Highever Castle.

Rowan wondered what the gossips and the minstrels would make of that.

 


	97. Wedding Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which wedding plans are made.

“We already have most of the preparations in hand,” Delilah was saying. “We'll need you to look over the guest list and see if there's anyone we should invite that we didn't, or anyone on the list you don't want to invite, of course. But right now, we need to talk about your wedding clothes. Both of you.”

Rowan started to explain, “Well, you know that green silk –”

“No, no, no,” Jess put in, more vehemently than Rowan had ever seen her. “You need a new dress for your wedding. It's good luck, and it will be my gift to you. I'll make it something you can wear to court, as well, to satisfy your practical side. I've been making your clothes for a while now, and I've seen your wardrobe and I know what you like and what looks good on you, so you can trust me on the design.”

Jess was normally quite reserved around Rowan. Friendly enough, but not at all familiar, even after all their shared family dinners. But today, she was delightfully animated, and Rowan liked it very much.

“Jess,” Rowan began, “you don't have to –”

“I won't take no for answer,” the auburn-haired tailor insisted. “It's the best gift I have to give, and I do owe you both a great deal.”

“You don't owe us anything,” Nathaniel said seriously.

“Yes, I do,” Jess argued. “And I don't want to argue, so I won't. You're accepting my gift of wedding clothes for you both, and we need to get to work so they're ready in time. Now. Colours.”

Rowan glanced at Nathaniel, who shrugged and smiled.

“I don't know, what do you suggest?” Rowan asked.

Jess grinned broadly. “For you, pink and cream. It would be perfect with your colouring. I have some lightweight silks that are quite appropriate for a Summerday wedding.”

“Pink?” Rowan repeated, raising her eyebrows.

“Oh, yes,” Delilah chimed in. “I can see that. Jess, do you have samples to show?”

“Indeed, I do,” Jess answered with a grin as she opened up the satchel she'd brought with her. She withdrew some fabric squares and walked over to Rowan and held up samples by Rowan's face. “Dee, look. Definitely this pink. I knew it would be the nicest. Look how it brings out the soft tones in her complexion. And the cream just accentuates it.”

“Oh, yes,” Delilah agreed. “Nate?”

“I think she looks lovely in everything she wears,” he answered, and Rowan rolled her eyes before he added, “I do like that cream silk, though. And although I have never seen my lady wear pink, I agree that it does look nice. Very flattering.”

“With gold trim and some gold and maybe just a bit of coloured embroidery for embellishment,” Jess said. “I have an elven apprentice now who is absolutely brilliant with the needle, and very fast. It should be no problem to get it done in time if we don't go overboard with it.”

“Yes, please don't cover me in gold thread,” Rowan said. “I prefer something simple.”

“I know,” Jess said. “I've made enough clothes for you, after all. But you can't get married in breeches and a tunic and sheepskin boots, no matter how comfortable you find it.”

Seeing Jess in her element like this showed Rowan a whole new side of the woman who was Tristan's mother. Jess had, indeed, made plenty of clothes for Rowan in the past, but they'd been basic, utilitarian items that didn't require much in the way of consultation or design. Jess was clearly excited about this project.

“Now, you,” Jess said, turning to Nathaniel. “Something that coordinates with your bride.”

A little thrill of excitement rushed through Rowan at those words: _your bride_. She had been quite calm about the wedding and its preparations, even to the point of handing most of it over to Delilah and Varel to organise. Rowan retained only executive approval, because so long as they got married in the appropriate circumstances for their station and rank, the details didn't matter all that much to Rowan. But just now the realisation hit her hard that she really was going to marry Nathaniel, and it was deeply moving.

“Not pink,” Nathaniel said dryly.

Jess laughed, and so did Delilah. “No, it wouldn't suit your colouring. How do you feel about the cream?” Jess asked.

“Fine, so long as it's not the entire outfit. I'd look ridiculous decked out in head to toe cream silk.”

“You would,” Jess agreed. “What about a gold? Something like,” she paused to rifle through her bag and came back with a piece of golden white textured silk. “Candlelight, we call this.” Jess held it up to his face. “Not bad. Not your best colour, though.”

“Black?” Nathaniel suggested.

“Hmmm. What about a deep brown with rosy undertones? I think that would work well. You have a few tunics already in the colour I'm thinking. I'll just need to find some in a more formal fabric. Should be able to do that in Denerim, though, when we go. So brown and cream for you, and pink and cream for the bride. Maybe we might put a little bit of gold or coloured embroidery in a few strategic places on your collar or sleeves, would that be all right? Just to pick up the theme.”

Nathaniel nodded, and Rowan glanced at Delilah, who appeared to be very much enjoying the show.

“Now, the designs,” Jess said. “Nothing Orlesian. Nothing that could be mistaken for Orlesian. For you, Nathaniel, a classic Ferelden style doublet and breeches, and a shirt underneath so you can take off the doublet after the ceremony if it turns out to be a hot day.”

“That's fine,” Nathaniel said agreeably.

“And for you, Rowan, a proper Ferelden corset dress. No train on the skirt, even if it is fashionable, because I know you'd hate that. How do you intend to wear your hair?”

“I hadn't thought about it,” Rowan admitted.

“Wear it down,” Nathaniel said quietly. “You have beautiful hair.”  
“If you like,” Rowan said with a little smile. His eyes were warm as he smiled back at her.

“Right,” Jess said, interrupting the moment. “Then no high collars on your dress. A traditional square neckline suits you very well, so we'll go with that unless you have other thoughts? Fine. You can leave the rest of the specifics to me. I'll make you some sketches before I start the patterns and get your approval, but I have a good idea what you like and don't like, and what suits you.”

“I trust you,” Rowan said.

“Thank you,” Jess said with a smile. “Well, all right then. I have some planning to do. I have measurements for both of you in my records. I don't imagine you've changed significantly since they were taken, but given the precision of these garments, if you'd drop around my shop in the next day or two so I can confirm, that would be good.”

“I'll chase you down if you don't,” Delilah warned.

“Thank you, Delilah,” Rowan said. “And you, Jess.”

“Oh, it is very much my pleasure,” Jess said, her face flushing a bit. “It's the least I can do.”

“It's nice to see you so animated, Jess,” Rowan said as she stood up. “I like seeing you like this. What's put you in such a good mood? Is it just the wedding or is there something I know know?”

Jess cleared her throat and gathered up her fabrics and turned her back while she made a production of putting them away in the bag. Rowan still managed to glimpse the bright blush that bloomed on the tailor's face and neck.

“Jess?” Nathaniel said with some concern as he got to his feet. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” she muttered. “I'll just get to work on some sketches.” And with that, she scurried out of the office.

“What in Thedas?” Rowan said. “Delilah, did I say something wrong? Should I go after her?”

“No, you're fine,” Delilah answered with a smile. “She got a little flustered, that's all.”

“What are you talking about?” Rowan asked, a little more sharply than she should have. As far as she was concerned, Jess was part of her household, part of her family. If there was a problem, Rowan wanted to know about it.

“Delilah,” Nathaniel warned.

“Nothing is wrong, believe me,” Delilah said with a chuckle. “I would tell you if there was, just as I have always done in the past. It's not my place to tell the tale this time, though. You'll find out soon enough, I'm sure. Now, I have work to do, so I will talk to you later.”

 

~*~

 

“Commander, Lieutenant,” said Captain Garevel in his rich, deep, sombre voice as he walked into the office. “I'm glad you're both here. I'd like to speak with both of you. Particularly, you, Lieutenant.”

Rowan looked up from her correspondence and Nathaniel put down the map he was studying, stood up, and flexed his shoulders.

“Yes, of course, Captain,” Rowan said.

“May I shut the door?” Garevel asked.

“As you like,” Nathaniel said and walked over to Rowan's desk. There was a stool with a padded seat nearby, and he sometimes sat there when he was sitting in a meeting with her, but for right now, he perched on the edge of her desk.

“Take a seat, if you wish, Captain,” Rowan said, gesturing toward the chairs that were set facing her desk. “What can we do for you?” She leaned back in her tall chair and folded her hands in her lap.

“It's a personal matter,” he said, looking somewhat uncomfortable.

“Oh?” Rowan asked.

“Lieutenant,” Garevel said, turning toward Nathaniel, “Jess and I have been seeing each other. Discreetly, of course. When you and the Commander went to Highever and Tristan was away with you, things between Jess and myself... became more serious.”

Nathaniel's eyebrows shot up in surprise and then he frowned. He also wondered why his sister hadn't mentioned this to him. Delilah knew everything that went on. Either Garavel was the most discreet man who ever walked the face of Thedas, or Delilah did know and had some reason to keep it quiet, possibly because Jess or Garavel or both of them asked for her discretion.

“All right,” Nathaniel said, waiting to hear how this in any way concerned him or Rowan.

“I would like to ask her to marry me. If she accepts, it will make me Tristan's step-father. I wanted to have your blessing on that.”

“Well, I have no objection,” Nathaniel answered honestly. “You spend a great deal of time with him, already, along with the other pages and squires. I can't really see how you being married to his mother would change things very much, unless you suddenly started to favour him over the others, and I don't think you're the sort of man to do such a thing.”

“That is correct,” Garevel agreed. “And rest assured I would not presume to act as his father.”

“Of course,” Nathaniel agreed. “But you're still free to tell him to pull up his socks or sit up straight at the table or get to his studies and such, just as you already do when it's called for.”  
“Indeed,” Garevel answered. He looked Nathaniel in the eye. Nathaniel looked back. Nathaniel nodded. So did Garevel. And that was settled.

“Commander,” Garevel said, turning to Rowan. “Is this all right with you?”

“Which part? I don't see how any of it concerns me.”

“You're the commander of the Keep and the Arl of Amaranthine,” Garevel stated. “The potential marriage of one of your senior staff to a resident merchant would seem to concern you.”

“I trust you to tend your duties, Captain. It would never occurred to me that you marrying would compromise your position.”

“Thank you,” Garavel acknowledged seriously. “Of course, this all assumes that Jess will even agree to marry me.”

Nathaniel turned to see that Rowan was smiling in that way she did when she'd just puzzled something out.

“Well, you have our blessing, anyway,” Nathaniel said as he hopped off the desk. “I'd wish you luck, but I don't honestly think luck has got much to do with it when it comes to matters of the heart.”

Garavel got to his feet and gave Nathaniel a rare smile, and extended his hand, which Nathaniel shook. Then the captain nodded to Rowan before he turned smartly and left the office.

“Well,” Rowan said, “that explains why Jess got so jumpy when I asked her if something had changed to put her in such a good mood. I guess the thing that changed was her relationship with Garevel.”

“I guess so,” Nathaniel agreed with a smile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Garavel had a bit of a crush on Rowan, and then on Bella the barmaid-turned-cellarmaster, and I just thought he deserved a little happiness. (He also has the same voice actor as Teagan, so that kind of sways me a little toward liking him.)


End file.
